


Poppyseed

by bergatroll, hippocrates460, hpwlwbb, ravenclawkward



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Not that it gets much screentime), F/F, Hermione is a POC, Hints at Snarry, I wasn't kidding about the sex, Millicent is fat, Minor butt stuff, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Period Sex, Sexual Content, Vibrators, Wax Play, but never fear, there is also a case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:15:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24474148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bergatroll/pseuds/bergatroll, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippocrates460/pseuds/hippocrates460, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpwlwbb/pseuds/hpwlwbb, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawkward/pseuds/ravenclawkward
Summary: Hermione is about to finish her Unspeakable training, she’s ended things with Ron, and the world feels wide and open. Things that seemed inevitable are no longer true, and the unthinkable has happened more than once.Title from I Like Giants, by Kimya Dawson.When I go for a drive I like to pull off to the sideOf the road and run and jump into the ocean in my clothesI'm smaller than a poppyseed inside a great big bowlAnd the ocean is a giant that can swallow me whole
Relationships: Millicent Bulstrode/Hermione Granger
Comments: 29
Kudos: 59
Collections: HP WLW BB 2020





	Poppyseed

**Author's Note:**

> Author's notes:  
> At the risk of jumping overboard right into the murky deep: Lilian, I would not be who I am today without you. Thank you for making my heart lighter, my writing better, my thoughts clearer, and the year-and-a-half process of getting Millie written an absolute joy. As with everything, it’s all for you, and it won’t ever be enough.  
> Endless thanks to you as well, Jo, for your incredible insights, your thoughtful questions, and your boundless enthusiasm. Millie is sharper and more colourful because of your help. You help bring everything into focus, not just in my writing, I can't tell you what it means to have the honour of being your friend.  
> Thank you also to everyone else. Everyone whose brains I’ve picked, everyone whose thoughts I’ve included here without citation. This story has so much of me, and you’re a part of me, so here you are. I love you.  
> To the artists the mods so generously bestowed upon me: thank you for trusting me, and for giving me the most gorgeous art I have ever seen. Ravenclawkward, thank you for bringing to life the feeling that started this whole story for me - the [Library Magic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pg4VCNyzI2I) with a gif (!!! that moves!!!) and their cups and the dust and the way they lean into each other. Berga, thank you for being a true pal, you have all the best thoughts. You also have such a talent for picking up on what I'm hoping to say and showing it with brilliance, with a vibrancy of the colours and expressions and placement in space of emotion. I feel so lucky to have been able to work with you both.  
> To the mods: Rock on, comrades <3 You're stellar and exemplary and the very coolest people and we as a fandom and a community are so lucky to have you. I am so lucky to know you, thank you for your hard work.  
>   
>  **Artist** [Ravenclawkward](https://ravenclawkward-art.tumblr.com/) (Tumblr)  
>  **Medium:** Animated digital painting  
>  **Artist’s Notes:** Huge thank you to the mods for organizing a great event and the opportunity to work with such fantastic writers!
> 
>  **Artist** [Bergatroll](https://impasse-trash.tumblr.com/) (Tumblr)  
>  **Medium:** mostly digital but mixed medium  
>  **Artist’s Notes:** Huge thank you for the mods of the fest, for that beautiful initiative, for keeping it alive, for giving time, and inspo, and clarity, even to the most awkward patatoes! :wink:  
> Thank you so much Hippo for your generosity in sharing, the beautiful fiction you put out there :heart: I was thrilled. getting to know your Millie and Hermione was really inspiring, and I hope I did them (and you) justice. It's always deeply moving for me, getting to meet other people to share a story with, or to find a welcoming community genuinly open and creative... so. If you, Reader, ever felt like trying, sharing, co-creating, consider to join the WLW big bang. It's such a fun journey! (I'm so glad to have met you guys)  
> Dear Reader, thank you for being there, too. Also, don't be shy, share your thoughts. :wink: The 3 of us will be happy to read from you.  
> Enjoy!

“So why did you break up with him?” Bulstrode asks, completely out of the blue. Hermione lets her head bang on the book she’s been trying to read a few times before looking up.

“Not you too. It’s been weeks.”

“Look,” Bulstrode grunts. “If you tell me, I’ll make sure no one bothers you about it again.”

That’s surprising. “Is this how Slytherins make friends?” Hermione finds herself asking, and Bulstrode just shrugs. Solid. Impassive as always.

“Offering a trade. My eternal friendship would come at a steeper price.”

It makes Hermione laugh, the first time she’s felt like it all day, between the article in the Prophet about Ron going on a date with yet _another_ beautiful Quidditch player, the enormous pile of work she had to do, and her classmates bothering her about the breakup, she spent all day aching for a hot bath and a dumb movie. Or a chat with Millicent Bulstrode apparently. “You’ll kill them? Or you’ll come up with something to say behind my back so I’m not bothered about it anymore?”

“I’m neither a Lestrange nor a Parkinson,” Bulstrode points out, “and I was going to use classical conditioning. Minor stinging hexes when they try.”

The idea of that is so charming that Hermione sits up a little straighter. She looks around the dusty corner of the deep-underground library to make sure no one is near. “I told him I had loved him my whole life and needed to know who I was without that.”

“But the truth?”

“It wasn’t good enough.” She’s not been able to tell anyone this. Her parents loved everything about Ron, Harry’s his best friend too, everyone else might sell the information. “We fought and we made up and I felt canned in by all the things I wasn’t supposed to do or say or be, and it just wasn’t worth it anymore.”

Bulstrode nods, like she knows. Maybe she does, it’s not like Hermione’s paid much attention to her before the first time they got assigned partners in Unspeakable training. Now they seem to spend all their time together every time there’s an assignment due, arguing over Hermione’s inability to discard basic physics. 

“You look confused.”

“Are you seeing anyone?” Hermione blurts out, because at two in the morning she apparently has no filter or manners left.

“I’m flattered,” Bulstrode lifts an eyebrow in a way she could only have learned from Snape. Hermione can’t even process what’s been said and starts spluttering properly before she continues. “Not sure you’re my type though.”

“You – no. What?” She can’t speak, words aren’t coming, and somehow her mouth keeps moving. “That’s not what I – I’m not – and you didn’t even answer the question!”

“Relax Granger,” Bulstrode suggests, leaning back into the chair she likes, makes a vague hand gesture. “Look at me, of course I’m not.”

Hermione takes the opportunity to really look at her. Bulstrode wears suits usually, crisp white shirts that get a little crumpled by the end of the day. Jackets and trousers and sweaters in winter. She never wears robes unless they have official business or are going outside. Hermione looks at the dress she’s wearing, work-appropriate but definitely not fashionable, and shrugs. “At least you iron.”

“There’s spells for that,” Bulstrode says, confusion all over her face. “Never mind, let’s get back to work.”

And they do. But from then on Hermione can’t help but think about what Bulstrode was talking about. She always dresses well; her hair is short but always clean and neat. She doesn’t wear make-up or jewellery but loads of girls don’t. She actually has a surprisingly large collection of shoes, Hermione has to decide after two weeks of discrete observation and never seeing a repeat pair. All leather boots and oxfords, matching her belt or suspenders depending on what Bulstrode is wearing that day. Hermione has one pair of flats, one pair of boots, and the fancy heels her mum bought her that she only wears when she really has to. It makes her uncomfortable to think about it, especially considering how much time she spends on it, but she can’t stop.

  
  


“Is it that you don’t wear dresses?” Hermione blurts out, on a totally stupid Tuesday when it’s raining and they’ve been hiding at a Muggle lab trying to ‘acquire’ a magical artefact that somehow found its way into the wrong hands. The Muggles are too fascinated by the swirling colours and the way it makes everything nearby that isn’t solid gold dissolve and seem unafraid of what the vortex might do when it gets to them. They haven’t even taken a bathroom break and Hermione and Bulstrode are just standing outside the window, staring in, waiting for their opportunity. It’s a good thing they learned how to be invisible a very long time ago because Hermione blushes so deep she can feel it heat her neck. “Sorry. Don’t answer that.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Bulstrode says, “and even if I did, it looks like someone ordered food, let’s hope this is our chance.”

Indeed, behind them a single moped trots up the lane to the front doors of the large facility. “Excellent,” Hermione decides, suddenly absorbed in the work again. Indeed, three minutes later all the Muggles in white coats leave the room and Hermione and Bulstrode get to secure the artefact, leave a harmless replacement behind that is set to turn into motionless slime in three hours exactly, and pop off to the Ministry again.

“What’s this about dresses then?” Bulstrode asks when they’re filling out the fieldwork forms together. It’s their least favourite part of the job, these simple run-and-fetch things that come with endless _documentation_ , and both of them can’t wait until they can start passing the work off to younger recruits. Normally they race each other to see who can get done fastest so they can get back to the real work. Not today apparently.

“You said look at me,” Hermione says, without looking up. She’s not sure enough they’re not still competing to finish the forms first. “Like it was obvious why you’re not dating. But I can’t figure it out so I asked if you meant because you don’t like to wear dresses. Which, I don’t think that should matter to anyone, it’s not like...”

“Granger I’m fat,” Bulstrode says, not embarrassed, not annoyed. Amused? Hermione feels her face flush again, she can’t look away from deep brown eyes, and her jaw feels all tight and she’s about to say _no you’re not,_ which would be so _stupid,_ when Bulstrode holds up the parchment. “And I’m done, your turn to buy coffee.”

It’s not the first time Hermione hasn’t finished first, they’re about a 50/50 split actually, but she feels humiliated by her defeat. Or at least that’s what she tells herself when she goes up to the third floor for the nice coffee they treat themselves to after finishing an assignment, cheeks burning hot.

  
  


“You’re friends with Millicent, right?” Harry asks, like that’s a normal thing to ask over curry and a beer at the place around the corner from his house.

“We work together,” Hermione says. Too slow. Blushes.

“Sure,” Harry looks a little concerned. “Anyway, I was talking to Draco and Pansy, and they finally managed to find his grandmother, the Prince one. Millicent and Blaise have been helping too, we had dinner last night to talk about it.”

Fuck, they’re talking about Snape again. Hermione fights not to sigh, brings her attention back. “That’s good, have you found out if she’s willing to let you see the family ledger?”

“No,” Harry spears a potato with his fork and holds it out to Hermione so she can taste it. Nice, not spicy enough for her, but tasty. “She hasn’t replied to any of our owls, but the solicitor was sure she lives there and that she’s still alive, so I’m thinking of going over. There’s always a chance we don’t need to see the ledger, she might have Snape right there.”

“You’ll get hexed to death before you make it to the front gate,” Hermione can’t help but frown, don’t think about how he gets to call her Millicent, _don’t think about Millicent at all,_ think about Snape. “Don’t go to a Pureblood’s house without an invitation.”

“Yeah,” Harry doesn’t look like he’s going to heed her warning, but then he never does. “Will you come though? I’d rather have you in my corner.” He’s not even shy about it anymore.

“Like hell,” she says, but she knows she’ll do it. Harry’s ridiculous theory that Snape survived Nagini and is alive somewhere has taken up eight years of his life and almost cost him his job twice, but she’s never let him go at anything alone and she won’t start now. “Bulstrode’s good, and you keep saying Malfoy makes a decent Auror, maybe if we go in a group they can at least handle the etiquette bits.”

“Draco sure, but Millicent? Etiquette? Bit of a bull in a china shop, isn’t she?” Harry laughs. His green eyes sparkle and he really is very good looking. Anger makes her stomach clench though, she’s not done blushing and feels her eyes sting.

“I’ve worked with her for ages Harry,” she can’t even keep her voice down, “she’s brilliant at what we do, and she _is_ sacred twenty-eight.” She feels wrong-footed, off balance, odd. 

“All right, then, I suppose I don’t know her very well at all.” He tilts his face, pats her hand, looking very confused. “I’m sorry.” His voice too gentle, eyes too soft. What is happening? “I’ll ask her to come along. If you –” _No._

“Don’t,” she warns, “don’t say anything. I’m not ready.”

“Oh love,” Harry slides around the table so he can sit next to her and wrap his arms around. Buries his face in her hair and breathes in and out. “I’m on your side. No matter what.”

That’s her Harry, she thinks, and she lets herself relax into him. Forgives him as she always does for being too blunt and a bit rude and observant only when it doesn’t suit her. He smells like himself, wood fire and laundry powder. It’s never once failed to calm her down.

  
  


Back in her flat, close to work, neat but small, she lies down on her carpet without turning on the lights or taking off her coat. With a flick of her wand she spells the ceiling invisible. It’s a clear night and even in London the stars are visible. _Lists_ , she thinks. What is making me feel this bad? What has changed? Breaking up with Ron, but then that happened months ago. Training and her job are going well. Her parents and friends are fine. She’s ahead with her book club reading. Her discomfort with Bulstrode is the only thing that really isn’t going well, and where does it come from? The tightness in her stomach feels suspiciously familiar and she decides to test the theory. 

With her wand she closes the curtains, locks the door, sets her coat to hang itself, and her clothes to either fold or go into the laundry hamper as she takes them off. Soon she’s in bed wearing only her underwear. Nice underwear. She’s been wearing nice underwear the last few weeks. The kind her mum makes her buy at stores she wouldn’t go to by herself. Matching and lace. With one finger, she touches a nipple through the sheer fabric, watching as it gets hard in the cool bedroom. She gets under the duvet and leans back against her stack of pillows, feeling endlessly grateful again that Ron has moved out and the things around here stay where she puts them. The hand that’s not touching her nipple, making the fabric drag and giving her goose bumps, trails down, feels her panties. Wet.

Hermione uses her fingernails, dragging down the inside of her thigh, to give herself goose bumps there too, then uses one finger to touch herself, as gently as she can, through the fabric of her panties. Up, down. It feels good, her breathing is deep but uneven as she circles where she’s most wet, and up again. Millicent Bulstrode. Crisp white shirts, open at the collar. Pale skin, dark hair. The way her hand looks when it holds onto Hermione’s arm, when she wants attention, when Hermione needs to come along. The contrast between the dark and pale.

Hermione shivers and lets her finger press a little harder. Pinches her other nipple before going back to the one that’s all sensitive already. Millicent’s straight teeth, pink lips, dark neat eyebrows, beautiful brown eyes. What if I could kiss her? Hermione thinks, pushing her panties to the side so she can get her finger wet properly. An image of her on her back, legs curled up, Millicent leaning over her, dark hair wild and out of place, hunger in her eyes, red eager cheeks, bubbles up like it’s a memory. Millicent, panting and straining her arms to stay up, pushing into her... Oh. Not that, probably. 

Wetting her lips, Hermione finally shimmies out of her panties, tosses them off the bed. She scratches through her short pubic hair and wonders what Millicent would think of that, of her dark thighs, the way her stomach moves when her skin is sensitive. With two fingers behind her back she gets her bra open so it can be tossed across the room too and she takes a moment to run her hands up and down her body, feeling warm and smooth and too hot for this stage of it by far. She uses her index finger to touch herself properly, be wet everywhere, and feels around in the nightstand for her vibrator. With a heavy sigh she rubs it against herself, then turns it on at the lowest setting.

Maybe Millicent couldn’t fuck her, but she could do this, hold her open, move the vibrator around, maybe even push a dildo or something in, use her hands, her... Hermione’s legs start shaking in an effort to lie still and she knows her face looks weird probably but when she shifts her hips and moves the vibrator around and it’s right there she remembers the first time she duelled Millicent in training, how she’d slashed her shirt, and the way her collarbone looked when she was lying flat on her back and panting, her sternum, up and down. Hermione’s stomach clenches and her legs pull up and _fuck fuck fuck_ she’s coming until her toes cramp and she switches off the vibrator and lets her head fall back into the pillows again. She closes her legs and stretches them out, wriggles her toes to get the blood flowing again. Shit. 

Work is surprisingly not awkward the next day, they just complain about how their university degrees should allow them to skip yet another course on statistics and research methodology, and work on their latest assignment. The rest of the week is much the same, but on Friday it’s May 2nd. Which means the yearly Ministry gala. Hermione wears a light blue dress that her mum’s friend made, having learned years ago that the only way to avoid everyone talking about her for months after events is to wear something from ‘a Muggle designer, I can put you in touch if you want?’

Harry is wearing the latest fashion, Malfoy probably sorted that out for him, and Ron is wearing nice robes that show off his slender height. They whisper in the corner together until it’s time for the dinner, where they get split up to try and convince their respective tables to donate as much as possible to the war repairs fund. This year’s goal is to raise scholarships for Hogwarts. 

Hermione sits down and notices immediately that she’s been put with the Minister for Magic again. Ron probably got notable Hogwarts alumni, Harry usually gets foreign representatives. French people love him for some reason.

“Hey,” she hears behind her and turns around to find Bulstrode standing next to the table. “This is table one, right?”

Hermione can only nod, her mind stuttering as she tries to remember the last time she saw Bulstrode in a dress. She’s wearing a long green one, with sleeves past her elbows, and a hem that’s shorter in the front, showing off slim ankles and beautiful black heels.

“What’s wrong,” Bulstrode’s tone is immediately sharp. “Did I spill something?” She looks down at herself and moves to see the whole of the dress. “Fuck, where is it?”

“No,” Hermione puts her hand on Bulstrode’s. “I’m sorry, you didn’t spill anything.”

“What are you looking at me like that for then?” Her eyes are narrow.

“You just look,” Hermione waves vaguely. “Come sit,” she motions to the seat next to her, unable to find the words. Bulstrode sits down carefully.

“Like a ham bullied into some extremely expensive silk,” her tone is entirely defeated as she says it and Hermione is appalled at herself.

“Of course not!” She grips Bulstrode’s arm tighter, “Merlin, don’t think that. You look beautiful. It’s a gorgeous dress, those shoes are amazing, your hair and make-up look great.”

“But?” Her eyes are still narrow and she’s pushed her shoulders back in defiance.

“You don’t look like yourself,” Hermione can’t think of a better way to say it then that and wracks her brain, but Bulstrode seems to get it. She deflates a little.

“Pansy made me _hairless_ ,” she complains, finally, and Hermione lets out a hopeless giggle in gratitude.

“Where?”

“Everywhere!” Her face is so expressive when she lets herself, and Hermione wants nothing more than to wipe off the lipstick, clean her eyes, see her friend. 

“You’re going to be so itchy tomorrow,” Hermione says, full of sympathy. “I don’t mind shaving my armpits, but I only do the rest when I absolutely have to.”

“I like being hairy,” Bulstrode shakes her head when Hermione offers her the bowl of olives she’s been eating from. “Can’t eat either, I’m wearing some kind of medieval torture device to keep my stomach under control.”

“Ah,” Hermione knows that feeling. “Make sure you don’t get dehydrated by drinking only alcohol and feel free to come with to Harry’s place after.” When Bulstrode stares at her incredulously she just shrugs. “We like to order pizza.”

“Brilliant,” a proper smile, which drops as she spots something.

“What?”

“Minister incoming,” she whispers.

“Well whatever you do,” Hermione whispers back, “don’t mention hair removal or your genitalia.”

Bulstrode snorts and sounds perfectly at ease for all of the three seconds it takes the hotshots to start arriving. The rest of the night is spent being charming, talking about being an Unspeakable in the vaguest way possible, and making sure everyone tries to outspend each other. 

“Hey Granger,” Bulstrode whispers in her ear when most people are drunk and a lot of people are leaving. “What about that pizza?”

“Christ,” Hermione laughs, “I just want to take these clothes off.” She’s more than a little tipsy herself or she would have never brought it up, but the thoughts are falling straight out of her mouth now. “Come to mine instead? We’ll have pizza and wine and you can borrow some pyjamas.”

Bulstrode looks her up and down, 90% scepticism.

“Resizing spells if they don’t fit, come on Bulstrode.”

She leans closer, looks across the room to spot all the people she should be saying goodbye to. Whispers: “You may call me Millie.”

“Millie,” it comes out breathy and quiet, but Bulstrode is already halfway across the room, hugging Draco, kissing Pansy’s cheek, punching Harry’s arm. Hermione goes to say goodbye to Ron first, but he’s very busy snogging and she’s seen enough of that to last a lifetime, so she makes the rounds and gets to Harry last.

“Thought you were joining us?” Harry says.

“Very tired,” she kisses him and leans over so Draco can kiss her hand as she’s hanging in Harry’s arms. She hugs Pansy next. “Thank you,” she says, unsure whether Pansy will understand what for, very sure that she’s beyond caring.

  
  


“Coat.” Bulstrode holds it out and how did she even manage to find it? “I Summoned it,” comes next, and Hermione sends up a big grin over her shoulder.

“Reading my mind?”

“Nothing so sinister,” a hoarse whisper as Bulstrode helps her into it, “I just spend a lot of time around your confusion face.”

Hermione bumps her shoulder into Bulstrode and leads them to the Floos, but she’s still smiling. “I’ll keep it open for you,” she says, stepping in and saying her address out loud. She’s not opened her coat yet when Bulstrode appears in her living room, looking awkward and hunched over. That won’t do at all. Hermione places her hand back on her arm, balancing to kick off her shoes and shrug out of her clothes. “You can hang your coat here,” she says over her shoulder, as she starts to pen out a note for the pizza. “What do you feel like?”

“Whatever you’re having,” Bulstrode says, quieter than expected, still looking overwhelmed. At least she’s started taking off her shoes. “Unless you’re having fruit, no fruit on pizza.”

“Pepperoni,” Hermione says as she’s writing, “and a Margherita.”

“That sounds fine.” She’s standing on the carpet, bare feet, still wearing her dress. Her coat looks limp and awkward.

“Let me take your things,” Hermione decides, setting the shoes aside, hanging the coat. She takes Bulstrode’s hand and leads her into the bedroom. “Pyjamas,” she points at the drawer, “underwear, socks. I promise I mean it when I say take anything you need. I have some sweaters and flannels here. There’s make-up wipes in the bathroom if you want. Shower if you want. I have towels.”

Back in the living room she tosses the note through the Floo to Alessandro’s pizzeria and finds wine and glasses to set out in front of the fire. She got rid of the coffee table when she realized how often she was pushing it aside to sit on the floor instead and finds the room vastly improved. She’s about halfway through the search for pins in her hair when the door to the bedroom clicks. 

“Thank you,” there’s a proper smile. Bulstrode has showered, her hair is combed back and still wet, and she’s wearing one of Hermione’s favourite shirts; a blue and red flannel one she’d bought in a charity shop last year. She’s also wearing the dark blue trousers Hermione wears when she doesn’t want to wear clothes but needs to go out for groceries, and a pair of woollen socks that were handknitted a decade or so ago. She looks comfortable.

“I’ll have a quick shower too,” Hermione decides, and she does, washing out the product in her hair, putting on some leggings and a sweater. When she comes back to the living room Bulstrode’s staring into the fire.

“Can you help me?” Hermione plops down in front of her. “I’m fairly certain there’s more pins in my hair but my arms are tired.”

“Ah,” she hears behind her, a rustle of shifting to get comfortable, “tell me if I’m hurting you.”

She doesn’t, of course she doesn’t. She’s endlessly careful as she picks up Hermione’s hair and moves it over one shoulder, then strand by strand searches through it to pick out another twelve pins. Hermione uses a comb to sort through the hair Millicent has already seen to and when the pizza comes they’re almost done with both the hair and the first bottle of wine. “Are you very hungry?” Hermione asks, taking care not to move too much. “We could eat first or finish this first.”

“I’m alright,” Millicent’s voice cracks but she picks out another pin and moves on to the next strand. Hermione adds some more coconut oil to her hands and gets back to work too. When they’re done Hermione lets her hair run through her hands a few times to find if there’s more and sighs happily when it feels clear and soft. “Thank you,” she smiles at Millicent who is currently bright red and staring at her hands. “Let’s wash our hands and eat.”

Millicent drains the last of her wine and stands up, hanging on to the chair next to her, shaking out her legs.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione walks over to the kitchen and pumps soap into Millicent’s hands. “Should’ve told me you were hurting. I know I get bossy but please do feel free to tell me to piss off.”

Millicent smiles over her shoulder as she rinses off her hands. “It wouldn’t be the first time I told you to fuck off, Granger. I don’t let you bully me.”

“That’s why I like you,” Hermione smiles and gets back into the living room, bringing another bottle of wine with her and sighing happily when she opens up the pizza boxes. “I’ve been looking forward to this all night.”

“Same,” Millicent picks a slice of pepperoni and moans when she tries it. “What’s this place called again?”

“Alessandro’s,” Hermione grins, then notices Millicent staring at her hair and follows her gaze. “Another pin?”

“No,” Millicent is blushing now, picking up another slice of pizza. “Just. Never saw you with your hair like this before I guess.”

“Wet?” Hermione mumbles around sinfully hot cheese. “Or down?”

“It didn’t use to be this long, and you wear it in a bun a lot.”

Hermione hums, she definitely didn’t have hair down to her waist at Hogwarts, her mum wouldn’t have let her. “Grew it out in uni.”

“It’s nice,” Millicent blushes again, “I’d never have the patience for it.”

“Yeah,” Hermione smiles at her fondly, “sometimes I don’t either and then I pay someone to do it for me, but I love how it looks.”

“Pansy did my hair and make-up today,” she says, leaning back against the sofa.

“I figured.” Hermione holds up the box so they can each have another slice. “It’s your first time, right?”

Millicent hums around her pizza, “I wasn’t invited before I became a Ministry employee officially, and last year there was that big case that they needed people for so I volunteered for that.”

“Lucky,” Hermione sighs, pouring them both some more wine, “they’d never let me.”

It startles Millicent into a laugh. “You really hate these things as much as I hate being forced to deal with dresses, don’t you?” Hermione is already nodding when Millicent corrects herself. “As much as I hate being forced to wear dresses, more like.”

“Should’ve told me,” Hermione smiles at Millicent, her face lit up by the fire. “I’d have worn a suit and called it the height of Muggle fashion. Never takes more than a few weeks for people to start copying my outfits.”

“You’d do that?” Millicent’s eyes are dancing around Hermione’s face.

“Course I would, if I’m going to be haunted by reporters for the rest of my life I might as well actually use my platform.”

“Huh,” Millicent hums, still looking a little shocked. But she turns back to her wine. It leaves Hermione at a complete loss for what to say until Millicent saves her with a glint in her eyes. “Speaking of platforms, did you see how the new Undersecretary of Magic had to conjure a stool every time he had to get up to speak?”

They laugh about that and everything else they can think of until the church down the street chimes.

“What does that mean?”

“Three in the morning.” Hermione can’t believe it herself. It wasn’t even midnight when they left the party. 

“Ah shit,” Millicent whines, “it’s going to suck to get home.” At Hermione’s look she shrugs. “We’re not on the Floo.”

Hermione wants to ask why, but other things are more pressing right now. “You can stay here, I’m only having lunch with Harry tomorrow so there’s no rush.”

“If you’re sure?” Millicent does not look sure. She looks worried. And why?

“Yes, of course,” Hermione nods, “you can have a t-shirt if you’d rather not sleep in such a warm shirt and go home in the morning when it’s not awful.”

“I am really tired.” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself so Hermione charms the pizza boxes and wine bottles to throw themselves out, and carries the wine glasses to set them into the sink. She comes back to find Millicent sitting cross-legged, staring up at her, so she holds out her hand. “I’m too heavy for you,” Millicent laughs, pushing Hermione’s hands away, but she gets up and follows Hermione, who points her to the bathroom with a little bow that has Millicent laughing harder.

“Clean toothbrush is under the sink,” Hermione shouts as she twists her hair up and finds her sleeping cap. 

“No way,” she hears, and rushes over to find Millicent giggling helplessly at the enormous box of freebies she gets from her parents. “What _are_ these?” She holds up a set of really tiny brushes and Hermione laughs too.

“For cleaning between your teeth! I get this stuff from my parents.”

“Teeth healers, right?” Millicent asks, rummaging around until she has a mostly normal-looking toothbrush.

“Yeah,” how’d she know that? “Yeah, they are.”

Millicent notices the look on her face and blushes. “You mentioned they were dentists and I had to look up what that means.”

“You must have been so disappointed,” Hermione laughs, pushing her hair into the cap. “What did you think it’d mean?”

“Hit Wizard,” Millicent says, deadpan, and Hermione laughs harder, crowding around to get her own toothbrush. “You’re scary enough for it. I thought maybe teachers of some sort, because of well...” She pretends to think, then makes a vague hand gesture that has Hermione doubling over. “All of you.”

“Thanks Millie,” Hermione manages around the toothbrush and a foamy mouth, but her eyes are shining and she knows it. When they’re done brushing they decide to change into t-shirts for sleeping and Hermione finds one for herself of the chess club she’d joined at university in an effort to get good enough to be allowed to play Ron. Millicent fishes one out of the pile that Hermione got before she even went to Hogwarts, one that somehow is still too large for her.

“Promising Mathematicians’ Summer Camp?” Millicent reads out and she looks like she’s holding back from laughing hard enough that she might explode soon.

“I was the youngest participant that year,” Hermione tries to point out but when Millicent laughs until tears are streaming down her face she joins.

“Why did you?” Millicent tries eventually, but it just sets her off again and Hermione has been trying to explain but can’t catch her breath.

“I – was. Shut up, it was fun!” They’re both still laughing when Hermione goes back to the bathroom to change into the shirt, and when she comes back, Millicent is wearing both the math t-shirt and a shit-eating grin. They make eye contact and burst out laughing again, until Hermione collapses onto the bed and Millicent sits down on the edge.

“Oh god,” Hermione complains, wriggling her way under the covers. She flicks her wand about to make sure the door is locked, the window is open, the lights are off, and Millicent looks at her over her shoulder in the dark. “Get in here.”

She does as she’s told, but the atmosphere has shifted. It feels heavier now, Millicent lying down between Hermione’s sheets, in Hermione’s clothes, smelling like Hermione’s shampoo. “You have so many Muggle things,” she whispers, and Hermione nods.

“Are you comfortable?” It seems like that might have been too big of a question, so she rephrases. “Can you sleep like this?” Millicent nods and draws up the duvet until only half her face is showing.

“I’m surprised you have things that fit me.”

And what can you say to that? “My favourite thing about having a nice long winter coat is that I can wear anything underneath,” Hermione settles on saying, in the end. “I think the shirt you were wearing earlier looks better on you than on me.”

“I think this shirt looks great on me too,” Millicent says, just so that they can smile at each other.

Hermione thinks of things she might regret not asking about, now that they’re in bed together, in the dark and quiet, and struggles to find something meaningful. Maybe they’ll work their way up to meaningful. “Why aren’t you on the Floo?”

“Most Slytherins aren’t I think, they’re hard to ward.”

“Can’t you get a secret one?” Hermione asks, that’s what she has. Harry too – of course.

A wry smile. “Not if you were on the wrong end in the war.”

“Ah,” Hermione lets her hand sneak across the mattress to take a hold of Millicent’s. Decides there’s another question she’d like to ask. “Why Millie?”

“It’s what my friends call me,” Millicent says, quite simply, sending her such a sweet smile back that it makes Hermione’s whole body feel warm.

“You can call me Hermione,” she promises, “or anything.”

“Good night, Youngest Promising Mathematician of what, 1990?”

“1991,” Hermione corrects, smiling, “good night.”

  
  


The next morning Hermione feels someone staring at her, so she takes her time to assess where she is, who she’s with, what happened. Home. Millie. One of the best nights of her life. She opens her eyes carefully but quickly and catches a glimpse of pure fear before Millicent turns her head. Scared of what?

“I don’t know about you,” Hermione says, sitting up, pretending she didn’t notice. “But I need coffee.”

Millicent has her knees pulled up and her face buried in her hands, but her voice is impressively level. “Do you have real coffee or are you a powder-dissolving kind of person.”

“You wound me,” Hermione whines, rolling out of bed and walking over to the kitchen, leaving the bedroom door open behind her. “After all this time, I should think that you would know me better than that.”

She knows Millicent joins her in the kitchen from the sound of the chair against the tiled floor. No other sounds.

“Who always goes to third floor?” She sets the water to boil and the beans to grind and readies her French press. “Who always gets you the good stuff, even when the elevators are full or we’re thirteen floors deep?”

When she turns around to set the table, Millicent has had enough time to gather herself. She helps with the plates and mugs and Hermione makes them both eggs and toast. 

“You alright?” Hermione prods Millicent’s leg with her foot and gets a bit of a smile in return.

“I am,” she promises. “Do you have any weekend plans?”

“Lunch with Harry,” Hermione reminds her, “and tomorrow I might go see my parents. You?”

Millicent looks at her, calculating. “I play water polo, on Saturdays.”

“Really?” Hermione sits up straighter and grins. “Do you train? Are there games?”

“I’m in a team,” she nods, “Wednesdays and Saturdays, games are normally instead of the Saturday practice unless it's off-season.”

“That sounds lovely,” she wants to ask if she can see, if she can come watch but bites her tongue, lets her smile say _good for you_. “Who are you playing today?”

“Leeds,” Millicent sighs, “they won last time but their star player is pregnant now so we’re hopeful.”

“I’m sorry to have prevented you from getting a good night’s sleep.”

“That’s alright,” she’s blushing now, looks down and back up. “You did feed me.”

“I did.” Hermione wants to be nearer, like they were in the bed, feels the distance like something cold on her skin, wishes to be close enough to touch. “Do you have time this morning for a walk?”

“Sure.” Millie nods. “Where to?”

Hermione gets them both warm clothes, they wrap up in their coats, Millicent has the same shoe size as Hermione’s mum and gets to borrow some Wellies. They walk through the damp spring morning together, bumping shoulders and pointing out flowers that weren’t there last week, until Hermione has to run if she wants to make it to the restaurant on time. They rush back and Millicent gets a bag of her dress and high heels and before Hermione has time to stop and think they’re saying goodbye, Millicent out in the hallway. Hermione leans in, standing on her tiptoes, kisses Millicent on her cheek, whispers: “Bye Millie.” Watches her run off.

  
  


“Hermione,” Harry calls. He’s ordered a pot of tea for them already. 

“Sorry I’m late,” she pants, throwing her coat into an empty seat. She sits down heavily. “How are you?”

“I’m great,” he throws her a calculating look, “you’re the one that ditched the pizza.”

“I had pizza,” she blushes. Right into it, then. “Millicent came home with me.”

“Came home with you?” Harry smiles. “Or _came home with you?_ ”

Alright. “She helped me with my hair, we ate pizza and drank wine, she stayed over. Nothing more exciting than a kiss on her cheek happened.”

Harry smiles wider and they both turn to the waiter, who popped up as Hermione was defending herself. They both order and Harry takes her hands. Kisses them both. “Hermione Jean Granger.”

“Shut up,” she pushes him away. “I don’t even know if she likes me.”

Harry’s face turns into one big thundercloud, but he waits for the waiter to set down the food, thanks them politely, pours them both more tea. “About that.”

“What?” 

“Remember back when we were trying to prove that Malfoy was the heir of Slytherin?”

“Yeah,” Hermione frowns, how could she forget?

“We got Crabbe and Goyle, and you got that hair from Millicent,” Harry continues, “but we were twelve.”

“So? Please get to the point.”

“That fight, and then the fact that you followed her around to get the hair, people noticed it. And they teased Millicent, saying you had a crush on her.”

Hermione feels her cheeks heat.

“And they’ve kept that up ever since. It’s a running joke. But they didn’t realize that we don’t know of it. Last night I joked that you two must have left together, and Draco told me to lay off, that it wasn’t funny anymore. Apparently the whole house joined in, in the end.”

“So then they told you the whole story.”

“Millicent thinks you’re well aware of the fact that it’s a running joke that you like her.”

Hermione buries her face in her hands. “She’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Fuck. That’s awful.”

“Do you actually like her?” Harry looks at her and he’s always been there, honest and brave.

“I do.” This is miserable. “I’ll tell my mum.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell my mum. She deserves better than to be a secret. I’ll ask her out on Monday.”

  
  


She does tell her mum. And her dad. After dinner, when they’re doing the dishes and have already discussed how they’re doing and how work is going and what her cousins are up to. 

“I have to tell you something,” she rinses off a plate and hands it to her mum, who dries it without looking up. Easier this way. “I like someone.”

“Good,” her dad says, putting away the cutlery her mum’s dried already. “Anyone we know?”

“Millicent Bulstrode,” she feels herself blushing deeper and keeps cleaning dishes. “The girl from my class at the Ministry.”

Her mum and dad are staring at her when she finally manages to look up, but her mum leans over and kisses her cheek, and her dad walks around to wrap her in a big hug. 

“Dad, my hands are –” he hangs on tighter and she hugs him back.

“You’ll bring her ‘round sometime right?”

Hermione blushes again, but this time she gets to hide it against her dad’s shoulder. “Don’t even know if she likes me back.”

It startles a laugh out of her mum. “She’d be silly not to, love.”

  
  


On Monday there is barely enough time for a hug and a bag of clothes being handed back before an alarm starts blaring that sets everyone into motion. Another damn explosion in the labs. Hermione runs up to notify the Minister, Millicent runs down to help the evacuation, and the resulting mess takes three days to sort out. After that they’re all hopelessly behind on their work and their classes, and their class spends Thursday and Friday in the library from dawn to midnight. It’s not how Hermione wanted to do it, not in front of all these people, not when they’re exhausted. Millicent is nowhere to be found when Hermione hits her head as she falls asleep while reading, so hard that she feels nauseous. She decides to take herself home.

Saturday morning dawns bright and far too early, but Hermione picks herself up and drags herself out of bed. She gives herself half an hour for a shower and a quick clean of the apartment, and is back at work in the library by eight.

“Hey,” she hears, not long after. Hoarse and tired, unmistakably glad to see her. 

“Hey, Millie,” she smiles back. “What are you doing here?”

“Fell asleep behind the stacks yesterday,” Millicent nods in the direction of the more obscure books, “got kicked out by Mr Pince.”

“What time?” 

“Nine,” Millicent laughs, and she hands Hermione a coffee. At the look of surprise on her face Millicent winks. “The coffee lady saw you come in, she suggested I get you one too since you looked so tired.”

“Merlin,” Hermione groans, taking a long drink. “You’re amazing. And so is she.”

“Unsung hero of the Ministry.” Millicent is still standing and when Hermione nods at the chair next to hers she shakes no. “The book that put me to sleep yesterday, I need to pick it up.”

“I’ll come with,” Hermione suggests, following Millicent between dusty aisles. The library is so quiet now. The charmed windows let in soft yellow light. When they’ve walked a while, Millicent turns abruptly and Hermione almost bumps into her.

“Sorry,” Millicent whispers. 

“That’s alright,” Hermione whispers back, looking up into brown eyes, pale face. “What’s wrong?”

Millicent reaches down to pick up her hand, holds it tight. Hermione lets herself stumble closer, places her other hand on Millicent’s face. Sweeping her cheek with a thumb. 

“Hermione,” Millicent whispers. “I have to tell you something.”

“Is this alright?” Hermione leans closer and claws her fingertips a little for leverage, not quite in the mood to talk, stands up on her toes to get close enough to feel Millicent’s breath against her face. “Can I kiss you?”

Millicent nods, and Hermione sways forward, stops close enough to share their breath, closes the gap. She feels conscious of herself, aware of her whole body, especially where her lips are kissing Millicent’s, where their hands are touching, where Millicent’s face turns into her palm. She presses closer and Millicent kisses her back, steps closer so Hermione’s back gets pressed against the shelves behind her. Deep and hot.

“Excuse me!” They hear, Mr Pince’s unmistakable high-pitched voice, and they fly apart. “No eating in the library!”

He’s nowhere to be seen. They’re alone and flushed. Panting and staring at each other. Hermione steps closer again, looking for a hug, wanting to be held, but Millicent’s shoulders fold in. 

“What?” Millicent isn’t looking at her and Hermione steps closer still, grabs her hands. “Should I not have done that?”

“No!” There she is. Frowning. “No, that was good.”

“Alright,” Hermione leans closer and wraps Millicent’s arms around her own shoulders until she’s being held properly and can lean in. “What is it you wanted to tell me?”

Her chin is a little mashed against Millicent’s collarbone when she looks up, and Millicent has to strain to meet her eyes, but she’s very unwilling to step away. “It seems a little silly now.”

“Yeah?” Hermione feels the adrenaline of kissing, the cold fear of hearing Mr Pince’s voice, slowly leaving her body. Like it’s dripping off of her skin. All that’s left is excitement. Warmth and strength and the smell of clean skin.

“I’m a lesbian,” Millicent whispers, a smile in her voice, and Hermione snorts. 

“Come out with me,” she whispers back, “dinner, drinks. A date.”

“Madame Puddifoot’s?” Millicent teases, and Hermione closes her arms around her waist, kisses her again. 

“Can’t believe we were worried about getting caught,” Hermione laughs, when she realises how unnecessary that was.

Millicent laughs back into the kiss. “What’s he going to do, revoke our Restricted section pass?” And Hermione leans in to taste the words with fondness. The marvel of how this is allowed.

They are caught by Mr Pince this time, but they just smile at him and get back to work, sneaking a kiss every now and then, until they’re both done and Millicent has to leave for water polo.

> Image Description: Millicent and Hermione kiss in the stacks of the library. Millicent is wearing a blue suit, and Hermione is wearing teal robes. Art by ravenclawkward-art. End description.

“Did you win?” Hermione whispers when she passes Millicent her coffee on Monday morning.

“We did,” Millicent whispers back, a brilliant smile on her face, “Glasgow has nothing on us.”

Throughout their morning lectures they shoot each other happy grins. Hermione lets her head lean on Millicent’s shoulder a few times, and feels butterflies all through her stomach when Millicent leans back. When they get assigned a new project they partner up together and walk down to their assigned private lab, probably looking far too giddy to be innocent.

“So if we agree to do erumpents, then to test the properties of the horn powder, I was thinking we could...”

Hermione interrupts her by locking the door behind them and spelling the curtains to the hallway closed. Millicent catches on immediately and pushes Hermione back against the door to kiss her properly. Hermione’s always been a fast learner and moans deeply, pushing Millicent away to leap onto one of the tall worktables. She motions for Millicent to come closer, to stand between her legs, to kiss.

Millicent stands across the room, looking at her, not moving at all, while Hermione sits on the table, legs spread, cheeks flushed. “Come,” she tries, dropping her hands. 

Slowly, Millicent obeys, taking her time to shrug out of her jacket, exposing a crisp white shirt and deep red suspenders. She hangs the jacket over the back of a chair, and walks across the room. Hermione’s hands are on her knees, she wants to pull Millicent in, for her to be close and closer still. When Millicent is finally, finally, close enough to touch, Hermione lets her fingers trail through short hair and down, just under the collar of the shirt. She’s so beautiful, pale soft skin and deep brown hair. Her eyes are strange and worried, dark lashes flutter. 

“More,” Hermione tries, hooking a foot behind Millicent’s knee. Millicent presses up against her and Hermione has to hike her skirt up to be able to spread her legs wide enough to allow Millicent to step between them. Warm hands settle on her hips and Hermione can’t look away. Pink lips, the birthmark on the left side, elegant arched brows. So beautiful. She wraps her arms around Millicent’s neck and sighs before leaning in for another kiss. It’s a little cold in the lab, and a little dusty, but the light streaming in through the enchanted windows is warm and they’re here alone. The light swoop of Millicent’s thumbs against her hipbones is enough to make Hermione’s stomach flutter and clench, and she pulls herself up and Millie in for deeper kissing. Warm and wet and wonderful. Sharp perfect teeth nip at her lips, Hermione feels herself moan into it. When she pulls Millicent in even more, Millicent overbalances and stumbles, laughing into their kiss. To steady herself, she puts one of her hands on Hermione’s thigh, close enough to her knee that it shouldn’t make a rush of want overtake her like a storm, half over the bunched-up fabric of her skirt. The touch of skin to skin almost burns, Hermione’s thigh warm, Millicent’s hand cold. “Ah,” Hermione sighs into the kiss, wriggling her hips nearer to the edge of the table, wrapping her legs tighter. Millicent’s fingers tense and Hermione places her own hand over them so she won’t pull away. She wriggles the edge of the skirt over their joined hands on her thigh and keeps kissing as she pulls the hand up. It’s all she’s ever wanted, to be surrounded by Millicent’s warmth, smelling her clean heat, to have still-cold hands on her burning thighs, but Millie steps away.

“Not here,” she pants, and Hermione delights in seeing her pale cheeks flushed bright pink, her lips wet and full, her eyes bright as she flicks them over Hermione’s face. Her hand is still under Hermione’s skirt, and when she sees it, she pulls that back too. All Hermione wants is to touch, to be touched in return, she aches with the need and the craving under her skin, but she nods.

After the initial scoping out of what is available to them at the lab, and some preliminary tests, they decide to go to the library to further define their research project.

“I think we should focus on the nullifying effect of _Agrostis stolonifera_ on the erumpent horn,” Hermione decides after an hour or so of reading, and Millicent nods absentmindedly. 

“I found something,” she says, looking up when Hermione prods her with her foot, a frown on her face.

“What?”

Millicent turns around the book, something extremely obscure that had lit up the brightest when they named their research topic. 

_‘The horn of the Loxodonta erumpus is known to react violently with almost all organic matter when powdered. The horn of the Rhinocerotidae erumpus, also known as the true erumpent, as opposed to the woolly erumpent, reacts to a wider scope of organic matter. The only safe method of distinguishing between the powdered version of both variants is to add the saliva of the horned toad as this will cause neither to explode, but will cause the powdered Rhinocerotidae erumpus to glow orange.’_ Hermione reads.

“Fuck,” she sighs, ducking when she realizes that’s a bit loud. “This is fascinating and we’re going to have to do this, aren’t we?”

Millie nods, eager and bright-eyed. “If we find another inconsistency that brings us to six, you know that, right?”

“It does?” Hermione counts on her fingers and, “it does!”

“The highest of any recruit ever was five,” Millicent tells her, like she doesn’t already know.

“We’re doing this,” Hermione decides.

Five hours later, she rubs the palms of her hands over her eyes. “Remind me again why we’re doing this?”

“Because we’ll be the first people in a century at least to uncover two flaws in Ministry potions ingredients acquisition.”

“You’re right,” Hermione says, and she tries to rally and get back to work, but the words blur together and she lets her head fall onto the table. She shifts her large fluffy bun up and folds her arms to rest her forehead on them, so her head can get some relief, and sighs into the space between her face and the table.

“Can I touch you?” Millie whispers, sounding far away, under water. Strangled.

“Of course,” Hermione promises, settling in for a hand on her arm maybe, or her back. Instead featherlight fingertips touch the back of her neck, rustling the baby hairs and making goose bumps break out all over her skin. Millicent’s hand pulls away, fast as lightning. “No keep going,” Hermione’s own voice sounds strange too, hoarse.

Carefully, slowly, Millicent moves her hand back to Hermione’s neck. It feels fantastic, far better than it should, and Hermione shivers into the contact. Millie’s hand stills, but she doesn’t pull away, and soon she’s using both hands to light sparks all the way down Hermione’s back. “You can touch my hair too,” Hermione offers, “my scalp.”

“What about here?” Millicent whispers, much closer this time, and fingers ghost over Hermione’s elbow. It’s the single most sensual thing to ever happen to her and she has to clench her jaw not to moan when her stomach contracts sympathetically. She turns her head to the side to look at Millie, who is a little flushed, hair out of place after a long day.

“Anywhere,” she promises, and Millicent folds down, ghosts lips over the corner of her mouth, breathes a single puff of breath through her nose, and sits up before Hermione can kiss back. “Come home with me?” She begs, and Millicent shakes no. The disappointment of the warm hand on her neck lifting off makes Hermione’s eyes sting, and Millicent sees it all. 

“I have to show you something,” Millicent whispers, eyes sad even as she smiles. “I have food, we can eat dinner?”

Hermione nods, head still cushioned on her arms, eyes still stinging. “Let’s get out of here.”

They drop the books they’re using off in the lab that’s theirs for as long as they are working on this project, place an order for a couple of live horned toads because apparently their saliva is so useless it’s not even sold separately, and leave the Ministry together, hanging on to each other, laughing about the confusion on the face of the lab assistant when they asked for a terrarium. 

  
  


“I have to tell you something,” Millicent tells Hermione when she steps out of the public Floo in the backroom of a dusty pub. Hermione looks around curiously, she hasn’t been to a lot of the smaller Wizarding villages around the country and loves the idea that they’re hidden in plain sight. Millicent helps her dust off her cloak and side-by-side they walk out into the sun. It’s not warm outside, but the air smells crisp and clean, the way it only ever does far away from London.

“Can I kiss you?” Hermione whispers when they walk through a cobbled street, away from the pub, her hand reaching for Millicent’s. 

“Yes,” she frowns a bit, “of course you can.”

“Good,” Hermione swings forward and kisses Millie quickly, then grins as she tugs her along again. “I’m sorry for interrupting you.”

“I don’t live alone,” Millicent says, the frown is back, dark eyes stormy and tired. “When my parents... after the war.”

Hermione squeezes her hand and walks closer still. Lets Millie come up with her own words.

“There wasn’t anyone to take care of my brother or my nan. My brother’s alright now, of course, but –”

They’re standing in front of a large house by the edge of town, between the road and a river, clean and beautiful in the sun. The large garden that runs all around it is well-kept, and the chimney smokes merrily.

“Your Bulstrode nan?” Hermione asks, almost giddy with the idea that she’ll be meeting Millie’s family. She can’t clamp down on the smile that’s starting to hurt her cheeks.

“Yeah,” Millicent tells her, looking a little confused. “Do you want this? She’s not well.”

Hermione quietly hopes that ‘not well’ isn’t a euphemism for racist or blood purist, and nods eagerly. Even if it does mean that, she is finding she wants to know everything about Millie there is to know.

Together they walk up the path to the house, and Millicent lets Hermione in. They walk to the front room together, where a very old lady is sitting in a large chair with a book in her lap. She’s surrounded by a large woollen throw and Millicent walks over to kiss her cheek.

“Tea please,” her nan says, but she turns into the kiss like a cat to the sun.

“Nan,” Millie says, blushing a little, “I brought someone home.”

“I built this house,” her grandmother chides her, “if you think I can’t feel when someone enters it you have another thing coming when I die. Tea, now, I should think.”

Hermione’s grin gets ever wider and she really, really wants to like this woman. Millicent shrugs an apology her way and leaves the front room with a squeeze to her hand.

“Hello,” Hermione steps very close and holds out her hand. “I am Hermione Granger.”

“Hello,” the woman shakes her hand and points her wand at a chair, which rushes closer and dances around eagerly until Hermione sits down. “Henrietta Bulstrode. You may call me Grandmother.”

She is clearly not stupid. It makes Hermione want to like her even more. She helps set the book aside when Henrietta moves, and receives a shrewd smile for it. Dark clever eyes pin her in place.

“Before she comes back,” Hermione decides to go for it, “is there anything you’d like to know?”

“Straight to the point,” the woman nods, and her artfully arranged hair doesn’t move an inch. “Good. Her parents would not approve.”

“But?” Hermione’s heart is starting to pound in her chest a little more than it should. 

“I was born a Bulstrode,” Henrietta says, instead of answering the question. At Hermione’s lack of understanding, she goes on. “My husband took my name when we married because his was not worth anything.”

“Ah,” Hermione blinks, this woman is the reason Millie isn’t a pure-blood. “Was he Muggle-born?”

“Indeed,” she holds out her hand and Hermione takes it, admires the simple ring Henrietta shows her. “A good Muggle family means nothing in this world, but it does keep our line mostly free from idiots like my eldest son.”

There we go, Hermione thinks, and she grins as wide as she can. With a little nod she seals the pact with Grandmother Henrietta, and when Millicent walks in with a neat tray of tea and biscuits, she takes one look at Henrietta and Hermione and groans. “Outnumbered, am I?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Hermione laughs, innocent as can be, and Henrietta laughs too.

“I did promise you to never make you wear a dress again. Is this the girl you wore that beautiful silk one for in May?”

“Nan,” Millicent bites out, and Hermione feels all the last traces of tension in her stomach evaporate, instead there’s only a bubbling sense of joy and excitement.

“Those were my clothes she was wearing when she came back in the morning,” she whispers to Henrietta, and Henrietta cackles while Millicent turns an even brighter shade of pink.

“How could you possibly think this would be a deal breaker?” Hermione whispers when they’re sitting in the large windowsill in Millicent’s bedroom, after dinner. After helping Grandmother up the stairs. 

“The house-elf, first of all, even if we were supporters of the Equal Rights Act,” Millicent smiles, tired and sad. “I am not free to leave, she has no one.”

“You don’t have aunts and uncles?”

“Three aunts, two died during the wars, the other moved to New Zealand,” Millicent leans her head back. Hermione swallows at that. 

“The house-elf looks happy and loved, and I remember how you voted,” she holds out her hand and squeezes Millicent’s hand when she takes it. “I’ve learned a lot since fourth year.”

“Yeah,” Millicent looks at her, bright and fond, “so have I.”

They look at each other for a long time, then back out over the garden, steaming mugs of tea in their free hands. “Thank you,” Hermione says, finally. “For letting me see.”

Millicent beams at her, handsome and sweet. “Stay?”

“Yeah,” Hermione kisses her, quickly and then twice more, “yes. I’ll stay.”

This time Hermione is the one that showers in a strange bathroom, the one that borrows clothes, the one that laughs at the little things around them. 

“Is this the same cat?” She laughs, when a fluffy grey beast jumps onto the bed with a tired huff.

“That I had at Hogwarts?” Millicent is already under the covers, leaning back against the headboard, the cat crawls closer to her, clearly begging for a cuddle. “She is. Not so young anymore now, of course. I’m surprised you remember.”

Hermione remembers three things at the same time and kneels down next to Millie on the sheets. The room is comfortable and dark, the window opens out onto the garden, fresh air floating in. “I have a confession to make,” she decides to say. First things first, she Transfigures the pillowcase from cotton to satin, and wraps her hair up. It’ll have to do for the night.

Millicent looks at her, worried, paler in the darkness of the room. “Lie down first?”

“Yeah,” Hermione shuffles around and curls into Millicent’s arms, one leg around her waist, their faces as close together as they can be without kissing. “Yeah, don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Alright.” Millie leans in and kisses Hermione on the nose and it’s so fond and sweet that it makes Hermione forget all about what she wanted to say. She can’t help the grin, the tingling of her skin, the warmth. “Hey,” Millie prods, and Hermione remembers that there was something else.

“Yes.” She takes a deep breath. “I remember because I – ah, became your cat.”

The look on Millicent’s face isn’t happy at all anymore, and Hermione decides this needs to be said.

“In second year, we thought Malfoy was the heir of Slytherin. I don’t know who else knows this, but I’ve never told anyone.” She swallows and places a hand on Millicent’s face. “We were going to sneak into the Slytherin common room, to get the truth from Malfoy, and so I brewed Polyjuice Potion. Ron and Harry would be Crabbe and Goyle, and I...”

“Me.” Millicent looks like a million puzzle pieces are falling into place at once.

“Harry told me,” Hermione whispers, “about how this came across to your friends, and what happened after. But only last week. I had no idea, before.”

Millicent nods, and Hermione decides to finish the story. “I got a cat hair instead, and it resulted in a horrible mess and ages in the Hospital Wing taking nasty potions to undo it.”

“It’s not that hard to undo a botched Polyjuice Potion,” Millicent frowns. 

Hermione grins at her in the dark. “It is if you don’t know that’s what happened. We trusted no one, least of all Snape.”

“But you’re letting Harry waste his life trying to find him anyway,” Millie ducks her head when she realizes what she sounds like, and Hermione wraps her fingers around the back of her neck. Pulls her in even closer. “Don’t answer that,” Millicent whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Hermione whispers back, “it’s a valid question. Harry falls apart without a mission. While on this one he has worked his way up the ranks of the Aurors, made a lot of friends and allies, and even cleaned up Grimmauld Place just in case Snape might need a place to stay.”

“Yeah,” Millie sighs, and Hermione knows she gets it. They both understand the need to stay busy, the sure knowledge that if they’re not moving they’ll fall. The cat settles into the crook of Hermione’s knees, and she reaches back to pet it. “I’ll kick her out if you’d prefer,” Millie offers.

“Nah,” Hermione picks the cat up and places it between them. “I miss mine, he lives with my parents now.”

“Not a lot of space in your flat,” Millie nods, scratching the cat too.

“And I don’t spend enough time at home to keep him happy, and Ron hates cats, and – I’m sorry is this very weird?” 

Millicent laughs, and the cat makes a noise in protest. She apologizes with some chin scratching. “You’re going to have to be a lot more specific,” Millicent’s eyes are dancing and bright. “Gryffindor? Engaged to a man until like, last week? War hero?”

“All of it,” Hermione laughs back, “but I meant me mentioning Ron. And we broke up over Christmas, thank you very much.”

Millicent shrugs a little, slows herself down. “It’s strange. It’s – not what I expected at all.” Hermione can understand that, so she hums. “I suppose I trust you enough to believe that this isn’t some extraordinarily cruel long-play.” 

“High praise indeed,” Hermione aims for dry and her voice finds madly in love instead.

“We should sleep,” Millicent tells her, her voice low and equally soppy. “We have a lot to do tomorrow.”

“’Mione?” Millicent whispers into the dark, long after Hermione thought she’d heard her fall asleep. Her breathing is still slow, but not as deep as before. 

“Yeah?” She whispers back.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“No,” Hermione admits, “I’m alright though, just processing.”

“If it’s too personal,” Millie breathes, “punch my arm or something.”

Hermione snorts quietly. “Yeah, sure. What is it?”

“You’ve only ever been with Ron, right?”

Hermione takes a deep breath. “Sort of. Do you remember Viktor Krum?”

“No way,” Millie laughs. “Really?”

“We didn’t... I didn’t think of it as ‘real sex’.”

“But now?”

“Oral sex is sex,” Hermione decided this a while ago. “So it counts.”

“At Hogwarts?”

“I visited him,” she whispers, “in Bulgaria, that summer.” Millicent hums. “What about you?”

Nothing happens for a long time, then the sheets rustle as Millicent turns onto her side. Hermione feels her shift, but can’t see anything at all in the dark. When she places a hand approximately where she thinks Millicent’s face might be, she hits warm neck, then crawls up a little for very warm cheek.

“Nothing so serious as a relationship,” Millie admits finally. “Muggles, in clubs, usually.”

“Snogging?” Hermione whispers, she’s been assuming Millicent knew all about what they were doing. “Or sex?”

“Either,” she whispers, cheek still hot, “though sex normally not _at_ a club. I’ve seen a fair few student housing estates around London.” Hermione feels hot too, and she wants to say she doesn’t care, that anything Millicent would say at this point would only make her like her more, but she can’t find the words and decides kissing will have to do. “If you mind me asking –” Millie reminds her, and Hermione shakes no.

“I like this,” she promises. “Getting to know each other.”

Millicent nods and hums, and wraps her up close. Hermione trails off easily, like that. Warm and safe.

In the morning Hermione wakes up strangely stiff and desperately happy. Millicent’s eyes are fluttering in her sleep, her lips soft and pink, her hair ruffled and sticking out. It’s not fully light outside yet, so they probably have some time before Hermione has to rush home for a change of clothes. She settles in to wait for Millicent to wake up but needs to use the bathroom very badly before she does. When she steps back into the bedroom, Millicent is leaning back against the headboard, a tray with tea and breakfast for both of them on her lap.

“Mornin’,” she rasps, scratchy from sleep.

“Hi,” Hermione crawls back into bed and leans in for a kiss. “Which one is mine?”

“I normally have toast and scrambled eggs,” Millie taps a plate, “so the rest is yours.”

The rest, meaning a bowl of fruit, yoghurt, pastries, and scrambled eggs. “I couldn’t possibly...”

“Seems you made a good impression last night.” Millicent is laughing at Hermione’s stress. “Just have a bite of everything, then finish whatever you feel like. She’ll remember for...”

“Next time,” Hermione grins, eyes shining, and Millie’s cheeks are pink and her hair is wild and she can’t help but lean in for some more kissing. 

  
  


The rest of the week is so busy with work and friends and Harry’s mad plans that they don’t have time for another sleepover, but on Friday they are huddled together in the corner of one of Pansy’s sofas, after a good session of dinner and plotting, and Hermione wants more.

“I know we haven’t talked about this yet,” she whispers, “but I would be happy to stay with you if you’d rather not let Henrietta alone overnight.”

“A night or two is alright, and Maggie knows where to find me if something happens.”

“She does?” Millicent blushes from her neck to her ears, and her carefully arranged hair flops over when she buries her face in her hands. “I’m sorry,” Hermione whispers, though she isn’t at all sorry. “Come home with me?”

“Yeah,” Millie nods, but she glares when Hermione laughs.

She really wants to – “Can I kiss you?”

“They’ll know,” Millie frowns, and Hermione has a quick look around.

“I’m pretty sure they already do. And I want them to know, they’re our friends. If you’d rather wait though...”

“No,” Millicent promises, leaning in for a quick kiss, then another. “I don’t want to wait.”

She probably didn’t mean it that way, but Hermione remembers the other thing she’s hoping for tonight, and she feels _want_. Her breathing skips a little and Millicent looks up in surprise. “Now?” Hermione asks. More shy than she wants to be.

They say their goodbyes to their friends, Harry whispers in her ear that he’s proud and he loves her, and Millie pushes Pansy away with a laugh at something Hermione didn’t quite catch. Everybody knows. Everything’s alright.

Hermione keeps the Floo open for Millicent, then just adds her to the wards. Millicent jumps when she feels it happen, then turns an open honest smile to Hermione. “Did you just?”

“Yeah,” maybe that’s a big thing for Purebloods, should have asked first. “Is that – is it?”

“We’re not suddenly engaged,” Millie laughs, eyes crinkling, “it just means you trust me.”

“Well,” Hermione steps in for a long proper kiss. “I do.”

They fall into bed together easily, Hermione lets Millicent pick her own clothes to wear, they laugh at the toothbrush that’s in the cup on the shelf still. “You’re not going to put it up?” Millicent asks with a nod to Hermione’s hair.

“I’m washing it tomorrow,” Hermione plucks at it a bit, the curls have lost all their definition after the week she’s had. “It’s a tangled mess anyway, a night of sleeping on it won’t make it worse.”

“I like it like this.” Millicent steps closer, slow enough that Hermione could change the topic if she wanted to. One hand settles on her hip, the other pulls a section of her hair forward over her shoulder. It tickles against Hermione’s bare arm and she shivers.

“Don’t worry,” she whispers, before Millicent can pull away. “Good shivers.”

“Alright,” Millicent smiles down at her, sweet and bright. She kisses Hermione’s other shoulder, then her ear, and walks into the bedroom again.

Hermione joins her in bed, and shuffles close enough to kiss. The lights are low. They’re under the duvet and wearing Hermione’s ratty sleeping clothes, but somehow it’s one of the sexiest things that’s ever happened to her. Her breathing is shallow and a bit fast. The light blue tank top Hermione is wearing keeps slipping off her shoulder and in the end she decides to just take it off. Her nipples are hard from friction and cold air and being honestly painfully aroused, and Millicent can’t look away. Her big brown eyes are wide and wet, her mouth a little open, as she pets her hands up from Hermione’s hip to her collarbone, and when Hermione shifts onto her back, back down to her belly button. Her hand is warm, and Hermione pushes into it, arching her back. With reverence all over her face, Millicent touches Hermione carefully, gently, making sure to glide all over her skin, then as if she suddenly remembered the concept of kissing, she rubs her lips along Hermione’s throat. Hermione folds a hand around Millicent’s neck, playing with the short hair there, pushing her other hand down the back of the borrowed stretched-out math camp shirt that Millie insisted on wearing again. Millicent looks up at her, and Hermione can’t help but smile and lean in for a kiss. She settles herself under Millicent, who hoovers over her, and tries for maximum skin-contact, her arms, her neck, her face. Millicent kisses her collarbones all over again, then down, and Hermione nearly cries when she licks a broad stripe over her nipple. She feels sensitive everywhere, her skin sings with it, and she works her way out of her pyjama trousers with some effort. Millie sits back and drinks her in, rubbing the skin of her thighs and her hips and her stomach. She feels beautiful and wanted and more naked than she’s ever been, and tugs at the shirt Millicent is still wearing. Millicent looks at her, before pulling it off over her head. 

“Ah,” breathes Hermione, only realising when she does that what she feels is relief. Her skin is even paler where it never sees the sun, she looks solid and firm, except for where her cheeks are blushing pink. Hermione sits up, moves in as far as she can, then looks up to ask for permission to touch. Millie just nods at her, so she lets her fingertips trail all over the beautiful skin. Soft heavy boobs. Stretchmarks on her sides and her stomach. She helps Millie out of the joggers she’s in, then out of her underwear, and together they lie back down.

“I’m...” It’s a bit weird to hear her own voice in the silence, but Hermione braves on. “I’m so curious, I’m sorry if it feels invasive at all.”

“’S alright,” Millicent whispers against her temple, pulling at her so Hermione’s lying on top of her. “I’ve never had anyone want to look at me like this before.”

“Really?” Hermione has to lean back to see that Millicent is serious, and she pushes herself off to sit between her legs. She can’t stop her hands exploring, milky thighs, soft stomach. She touches Millicent’s pubic hair as carefully as she can, and Millicent twitches. “Sorry.”

“Good shivers,” she promises, peeking up.

“Whatever Pansy made you do,” Hermione swirls her fingers around and smiles, “I’m glad it’s growing back.”

“Yeah?” Millicent pulls a pillow down and settles it under her head, exposing black hair under her arms. Hermione runs a hand up and down from her ankle to her hip, and feels soft hair there too. All the answer she can give is caught in her throat when Millie resettles her legs and ends up opening her thighs.  


“You’ve to tell me,” Hermione mutters, trailing her hand on the inside of a warm thigh, all the way down. “What you’re feeling.”

“I will,” Millie promises, and she pushes Hermione’s hair out of the way, traces her jaw. She’s beautiful, and wet, and warm, and Hermione has so much fun exploring, tracing, tasting, listening to Millicent’s increasingly hoarse feedback, that it comes as a genuine surprise when she’s three fingers in and sucking on her clit that Millicent clenches her thighs, and arches her back and gasps “coming, coming, coming,” while she shifts and shudders all around. Hermione looks up, knows she looks smug, feels absolutely triumphant, and gets pulled in for a kiss that bubbles with laughter. Millicent takes no further time, just pushes her back, and dives right in. She is meticulous and careful and Hermione comes three times before pushing her face away. “Stop that.”

“Sure?” Millie teases, kissing her wet thighs. “There might be another one in there?”

“Pff,” Hermione laughs, passing Millie a pillow, resting next to her between messy sheets. The whole room smells like sex and heat, and her abs hurt. “I want to do that again,” she sighs, and it comes from so deep within, that she has to stretch to let the feeling fill her properly.

“Right now?” Millie asks, sleep and laughter in her voice. As if she would, but she’d really rather sleep.

“Tomorrow,” Hermione promises, enjoying warm naked skin. Then she turns all the lights all the way off with a whisper. 

They wake up at the same time the next morning, entangled, and Hermione feels shy in the morning light. She feels her cheeks get hot and prays it won’t show. “You alright?” Millicent asks, so she nods. She is alright. Just eager for something she doesn’t have words for. Instead of saying anything she presses Millicent onto her back and kisses her stomach.

“That’s my stomach,” Millicent says, warm and light, and Hermione grins up at her. Kisses a bit lower, and then moves on to a knee.

“That’s my knee,” Millicent is laughing now, “you’re doing well with that, want to try a bit higher?”

With a stifled snort Hermione kisses a bit higher, moving too slow. She knows she is, and she laughs more when Millie pulls at her ear playfully. “Come on then.”

“Sorry what?” Hermione looks up and tries to project innocent confusion.

“When are you going to get there?” Millicent wriggles her leg to dislodge Hermione, and Hermione kisses up higher. Pulls Millie’s legs up and open, kneels down reverently in front of her. One last fond kiss to her stomach.

When Millicent’s legs start shaking, Hermione sucks harder, and when her face gets pushed away she crawls up for a kiss. “Breakfast?”

“Sure,” Millicent gives her a look, “if you’re alright.”

Hermione isn’t alright. She’s shaky and overwhelmed and she wants something to eat. But she’s happy Millie is close, so she nods anyway. 

Over breakfast she wonders how she ever thought of Millicent as hard to read. She’s expressive in everything she does, eager even when she’s just stirring sugar into her tea. She loses her stiffness when it’s just them, and Hermione feels grateful and secure. “D’you want to go in to work today?” 

“Water polo,” Millicent reminds her, gruff and at ease, “but I’d love to go tomorrow.”

“I know it’s pathetic,” Hermione smiles warmly, “but I’m gagging for a look at our samples.”

“Same,” Millicent laughs, “you can tell me tonight if you don’t have other plans?”

Hermione is shaking her head no before she’s consciously made the decision to.

“You don’t have time?” Immediately some tension is back in Millicent’s face, she pulls her elbows in to take up less space, and sits up taller.

“No,” Hermione isn’t sure how to ask. How to say this. Leans in. “I do have time. I’d rather come look at your match than wait to see you again after though, if I’m allowed.”

“You would?” 

“Yes.” She’s sure. “Who are you playing again today?”

  
  


Hermione screams so loud when Millicent scores a goal that she hears it even through her cap and she turns around to send a great big smile up to the stands. She looks tired and radiant when she finally climbs out of the pool. Hugs Hermione even though she’s wet and kisses her loudly while Hermione squirms and laughs.

“Next time I’ll bring you a sign,” Hermione promises, “something big and obnoxious.” 

Millie has to shower and change and comes back with her eyes still shining. “Next time,” she says, and Hermione can’t help but laugh, kiss her fondly.

“Didn’t know you were gay,” one of the older women from the team says when they walk past her. Millicent steps falters, and Hermione frowns. They were just trying to decide on home first or coffee first. 

“Yeah,” Millicent frowns, “very.”

The woman laughs, not unkindly at all, and pats Millie’s shoulder. “We should do drinks with partners sometimes. I like the enthusiasm of this one.” With a nod to Hermione, she walks off to her car.

“Weird,” Millicent sighs, “I don’t think I’ve ever talked to Patti before. What do you think she meant by that?”

Hermione looks up at her, squeezes her hand. “She’s happy for you, love.” She’s sure of it.

They decide on coffee, and walk around the park near the aquatics centre with their takeaway cups. Hermione hooks her arm into the crook of Millicent’s elbow, the air smells like spring when it doesn’t smell of chlorine and coffee. Hermione notices Millicent falling silent, and chats on eagerly about the book she is reading regardless. Millie can have some space to think. 

“How do you know them?” Millicent looks mortified at having interrupted, so Hermione squeezes her elbow a little. Her voice is lower than it usually is, she looks at Hermione like there’s something she’s missing. 

“School,” she says, deciding not to ask about what happened to Millie’s mood. By her pink cheeks and the little nod she gives she appreciates it. “We stayed in touch when we went to different secondaries, and several of us did uni in London, we started the book club then. There’s friends of friends now too, of course, but it’s a good group.”

“So how’d you pick the books?” Her cheeks are still pink but she looks grateful for the chance to talk over whatever is on her mind.

“We have a waiting list for books, and we vote on them every month. It usually involves some very impassioned arguing and wine.”

Millicent smiles like she can’t help it. “That sounds like it’d be just your thing.” It’s true.

  
  


At work, the next day, bent over their samples together, Hermione doesn’t know if the smell of chlorine and warm skin is just a part of Millicent, or if she’s imagining it because of the weekend they’re having. Millicent had gone home after their coffee and walk the day before, so Hermione had had enough time to clean her apartment and do the shopping.

“We have everything we need,” Millicent says, drawing Hermione back out of her thoughts. “It should be safe enough to do the tests.”

“But how will we get the saliva?” Hermione wonders, looking at the blinking toads. 

“We could ask the guy up at Magical Beasts,” Millicent suggests, but they both wrinkle their noses at the idea. “Kinda seems like we could be at least trying to keep them alive.”

“Maybe we’ll just give it a minute,” Hermione suggests. “They’re ok in here for now, and we’ll just feed them every day, maybe we can find something in the library about keeping them happy.”

“In the meantime we just work on the assignment,” Millicent agrees, “since we’re supposed to be finding out if there is a consistency in what sort of materials don’t react with powdered erumpent horn.”

“Back to the books,” Hermione grins, “but tomorrow. It’s weekend still.”

  
  


They spend another week between work, their project, and all their other obligations, and suddenly it’s Friday again. It’s Hermione’s turn to host, so she leaves work a bit early to set up her sitting room, and to be there to welcome her friends as they arrive one-by-one, and then in little groups. Annabel, Hermione’s oldest friend, runs the discussion with an iron fist. 

“Well the point was to read it before the movie comes out, wasn’t it?” She says, quite sharply, when Katy threatens to derail the conversation with a discussion of why they chose this book at all. Katy nods, rolls her eyes too, which makes everyone including Annabel laugh, and mimics zipping her lips.

“I found myself wondering,” Hermione says, “what the story would have been like if it had been all from Bobby’s perspective.”

“Yes!” Chris says, eager with her glass of wine in a way that would make Hermione stressed had she not been familiar with Mrs Skower’s wonderful goods. “See, he’s sort of played off as a very limited narrator, but I don’t think that’s true at all.”

When they’re all a little tipsy and their two-hour books only time is up, Hermione is sitting on her floor, sharing a bowl of popcorn with Grace. “Have you… have you been going on dates at all?” She asks, because Grace always wants to be supportive.

“Yeah,” Hermione admits, can’t help the grin that’s splitting her face.

“Ooh,” coos Katy from across the carpet, “what’s his name then?”

Annabel, who already knows, looks over to see if Hermione needs help, but she waves her off. _"Her_ name,” she says. It’s not that she was worried, but it’s still nice that they’re all so very happy for her. 

  
  


“So the way we need to set this up,” Millicent summarizes on Saturday evening after they’ve both been to her match (and her team has won) and are sitting in the library. “We’ll need to prove that some of the supply isn’t from the true erumpent. We can’t go and look for woolly erumpent’s horn powder, because that’d be illegal to have.”

“And going through the paperwork would take weeks,” Hermione adds.

“That,” Millie agrees. “So we need something we are absolutely and entirely certain is true erumpent.”

“Do we ask Scamander?” Hermione suggests, and Millie shrugs. 

“Can do,” she admits. “Are we sure the whole thing is not visually dissimilar enough to just use that?”

“From drawings in books that old?” Hermione thinks about it. “Plus we just said we wouldn’t try to figure out how old the horns are as a way to check veracity because that would have a huge margin of error.”

“Let’s send some letters then,” Millicent decides. 

They write together until they’re hungry and send off the letters at the Ministry’s owlery before Apparating to Hermione’s apartment. 

“D’you mind if I put on some music?” Hermione asks, one hand against the wall as she kicks off her shoes. 

“Not at all,” Millicent promises, standing a bit awkwardly in the middle of the room. “What... what sort of music do you normally listen to?”

“Muggle stuff,” Hermione says, because it’s true and also because she’s not sure how familiar Millicent is with Muggle music. 

“Oh,” she thinks very hard then perks up, “do you know – mm. Eminem?”

“Yes,” Hermione laughs. “Do you?”

“Sometimes we travel for a match with people from the team,” she’s blushing now. “It’s so different from anything I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m afraid my music is all quite old, mostly from my parents. The Beatles, Cream. D’you know them?” She clicks the CD player and checks what is currently in there. “Ah, this one is a mix of different things that my friends think I should listen to.”

“Go for it.” Millicent says, and they move into the kitchen together to see what they can put together food-wise. “Muggle friends?” 

“Yeah,” Hermione says, setting the veggies to chop themselves and a pan to boil with some wand-flicking. Greatest benefit of being an almost-Weasley-in-law: she knows all the spells. She hums along to one of the songs a bit, and doesn’t realize Millicent is no longer standing next to her until she turns around to ask if she’ll set the table. She does it herself, with a big grin, and walks over to the sitting room when the steaming pot of pasta-and-some-type-of-sauce is ready. Millicent is staring at her CD player, a wrinkle of concentration on her forehead.

When she notices Hermione, she turns around. “What’s this one called?”

“No idea,” Hermione admits, “but I can ask.”

“Mm,” says Millicent. “Please. It’s nice.”

Over dinner, which Millie pretends is delicious even though it has perhaps five ingredients, they talk of music a bit more. “I normally just listen to the albums I already have, and then when Ron and I broke up I went to the music shop around the corner and asked for an album about that. He must’ve totally understood because he picked one that was just right.” They eat in silence for a bit and then Hermione remembers something as a bit she does recognize floats in from the sitting room. She prods Millicent with her foot. “How about you?”

“I…” A deep sigh. “I am not all that sure what my taste is. I like some things I’ve heard around, from teammates or at clubs.” She blushes. “Not big on ol’ Celestina.”

“But the Bent-Winged Snitches?” Hermione asks.

Millicent hums a bit. “Not really, no. They’re very boring on the second or third listen, the words but also the music.”

“How about…” Hermione doesn’t know the names of artists either. She hums a few lines of something she’s heard on the wireless before. “Am I making sense?”

Millicent has an extremely fond look on her face and shakes no. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Hermione gets up to start cleaning up, bumps her hip into Millie’s gently. “Help me?”

Millicent doesn’t help at all, she just distracts Hermione with warm hands on her hips and suggestions of _no let’s have some tea_ , and _we can have it in front of the fire_. Kisses to her hair. 

Of course it was all a lie, Millicent is barely interested in the tea, and definitely not interested in the sitting or the fire. Even if the carpet is nice, and the fire is warm, and the tea is the nice kind. She just kisses Hermione and tangles their hands, fingers interlaced, as they sit across from each other, cross-legged. 

Hermione is blushing with pleasure and the heat from the tea and the fire, flushed also from being tired, probably. “Should have told me,” she smiles into a kiss, looking at Millie’s happy grin, pink cheeks. 

“Should have told you what?” She asks.

“That you wanted to get a move on.”

“Get a move on?” Millicent sounds indignant. “What a crass way to put it.”

It makes Hermione laugh. “What would you say?”

“I’m just eager for a kiss,” Millie promises. Sets their mostly-empty mugs aside. “Could you lock up for me please?”

Hermione doesn’t need to get up for that, so she shuffles closer and dims the light, locks the front door, closes the curtains, all with a thought. Then moves into Millicent’s lap, wraps her arms around her neck and leans in. She kisses her shoulder, and warm strong arms close around her waist. 

“Do I get up?” Millicent says, low and warm. Hermione nearly laughs and then remembers the way Millie threw a ball from all the way across a pool, kicking herself up out of the water and… she probably could. Get up like this, carry Hermione to the bedroom. Instead she pushes her face closer.

“No,” she decides, “unless you’re not comfortable here?” Millicent’s neck smells warm and a bit like the library still, clean laundry too. 

“I’m alright,” she rumbles. With seemingly very little effort, she kneels up a little, and keeping one arm around Hermione’s back and the other on the floor, she tips them both over. “So long as you are too,” she adds, before kissing Hermione again, deep and happy.

Her hair is bunched up all wrong so Hermione squirms around a little, pulls out her bun from under her head and resettles it. 

“Sorry,” she laughs, at the look on Millicent’s face. She stops laughing when it turns from fond to… greedy, a bit. Desirous. It makes her stomach clench, and she swallows. 

“Do you have any…” Millicent’s jaw works as she looks for a word. “Those Muggle things. The mmmmm ones?”

“Yes,” Hermione gasps, probably too eager. She summons the contents of her nightstands and watches them land all around, a messy array of what she has never let anyone see before. “It’s,” she’s hot and uncomfortable all the sudden. “Too much?”

“Not at all,” Millie promises, leaning over again, close enough that Hermione feels ok. Her weight is comforting, her heat even more so. “We don’t have to,” she promises. But Hermione wants.

“You can,” she says, hoarse with it. Her clothes don’t fit right, they’re bunched all wrong, Millicent is far too far away. But then she leans in, and starts kissing Hermione’s neck, and opening all the fussy little buttons on the dress Hermione normally just takes off over her head. It feels – rather wonderful. As Hermione arches into it, one hand on the back of Millicent’s head, the other on her upper back, trying to get into her shirt so she can feel warm soft skin, a hand settles on her thigh. _Oh._

“Do you have those…” Millicent whispers against Hermione’s sternum, hot breath against fever-hot skin. “Those leather things. With a spot to put the…” Does she not know the word? Is she shy about saying it? “Dildo.” Hoarse. Her stomach flutters. Millicent licks into her bellybutton and it’s hot-wet cold-drying, all too much. 

“Harness,” Hermione says. Millicent is biting at her hip and still somehow wearing all of her clothes. “You should be far more naked,” she decides. It’s true even if it has nothing to do with the harness. “We can buy one, or make one. Transfigure one.”

“Would you like that?” Millie looks up as she says it, gently resting her cheek against Hermione’s thigh. She’s stretched out flat on her stomach between Hermione’s legs, the light from the fire flickers over her face. Hermione pets her dear everywhere hair, her rosy eager cheeks. Hermione can only nod. Arch her back when Millie kisses across her mons, licks through her panties. “Roll over?”

Hermione does as she’s told, careful not to kick Millie in the process, and gets helped out of her dress and panties. “My bra,” she says, and Millie undoes it for her. She looks around to see Millicent staring down at her, glowing with affection, still dressed. She works her way up to sitting, a bit unsteady but not so much she needs the help, and wriggles her hand in between Millie’s soft tucked-in shirt and trousers. Needs her other hand to be able to open the button. Millicent holds her breath. She kisses her for it. “Want to see you,” she promises. 

It doesn’t take long to get Millie down to at least her underwear, but Millicent is eager. She pushes Hermione back down onto the carpet, on her stomach, then pulls her up a little by her hips, helps her settle on her elbows and knees. Kisses her lower back, uses her hands first to get Hermione used to the touch, then switches to eager licking. Hermione has no idea what to do with herself, wants to move closer and away, wants to stretch her arms and knows they won’t hold her, feels muscles in her thighs twitch involuntarily and she’s _close_ but it’s not enough and then suddenly her vibrator is passed into her hand. She turns it on automatically, as she always does, and Millicent makes way for it. Kisses her skin, trails her labia with her fingers, up and down. When she gets the vibrator where she wants it, a single finger pushes into her. _This this this_ , she thinks, her cheek pressed against her rough carpet, Millicent moving the kissing into the wet slow biting territory and each gentle graze of teeth sets Hermione further on edge until she curls her toes and bites her lip and Millicent pushes in a second finger and she comes so hard her calf cramps.

“Fuck,” she laughs, having fallen over to her side. The vibrator gets switched off. Her hands and feet feel tingly, Millicent looking at her with something dark and hungry in her eyes. Not touching her, though. When she launches herself at Millicent for a hug and a kiss and a scramble to get her top off, Millie replies with unusual eagerness. Claws her fingers into Hermione’s back. “Do you want it?” Hermione asks, pushing her hand into Millicent’s panties without moving off of her lap. “To fuck me,” she offers, pushing two fingers inside and fuck she’s wet, Hermione can smell her arousal, taste herself still in the kissing they’re doing. “For me to fuck you,” she adds, for completeness. “How would you want it?” She speeds up her rhythm a bit when Millie’s hips start rolling and her kissing gets even more desperate, the way she is gripping at Hermione’s hips and arse is going to leave marks and Hermione wants more and more and more. “Do I ride you?” Her voice cracks a little. “Or from behind? In the shower maybe. Or on the kitchen table.”

Millie is panting now, and when Hermione flutters her eyes open to get a look at her she looks pained and bright-red, her skin damp. They kiss, and Hermione fucks her through it, keeps going even when Millicent’s hips stutter and only stops when her wrist gets grabbed.

“Merlin’s actual knickers,” she laughs. And Hermione wraps her up in her arms. She completely agrees.

“Shower?” She offers.

They have to help each other, shaky legs and clothes everywhere, and Hermione is shivering with exhaustion and the sudden cold of a come-down. Her teeth chatter when she’s helped into the bath, and she turns the shower on with one hand because she’ll be damned if she lets Millie get away now. She tugs and she tugs until they’re both standing in the tub, the stream of water from her shower woefully unprepared for two people. 

“Aren’t there spells for this,” she complains, to Millie’s great amusement, apparently.

“Please don’t try an Engorgio while we’re in here,” Millie offers, and Hermione rolls her eyes. Summons her wand. For precision. 

She doesn’t use Engorgio on the showerhead but does manage to stopper the bath and convince her wand to give her hot water until they can both settle down in it, Hermione’s back against Millie’s chest. “I’m very clever,” she decides, looking over her shoulder.

It’s Millicent’s turn to roll her eyes, but she doesn’t stop drawing little wet circles on Hermione’s arm, so it’s still a win. 

  
  


On Monday Hermione and Millicent do their first testing and find that none of the samples of erumpent powder they have collected from stores, owl-order, or the ministry storage rooms, glow orange. The sample they get on Tuesday from the _Centrally Regulated Association of Beast Supply_ does glow orange, and that afternoon they have their first meeting with their supervisor. He’s fascinated by their project and findings and they’re giddy about his enthusiasm all the way until the next morning.

“Glad you’re both here,” Murphy says. “We have a meeting upstairs.”

Millie shoots Hermione a look and they both shrug, just follow him into the elevator. It’s still the morning rush so rather busy, and Murphy doesn’t believe in speaking in front of other people, so they ride up in silence. He takes them down the hallway to MLE, which is a bit weird, and then into a conference room with Ron and Harry already there, as well as their boss, Powell. Extremely weird. They all smile at each other but know not to speak.

When the room has been properly warded, Powell sits down. “Please,” she says, motioning for them to sit too. “Potter, where’s the tea?”

“Here in a minute, ma’am,” Harry answers, which is so strange Hermione almost laughs.

“Now,” Murphy starts, “these two told me about their project yesterday, and I remembered something Powell and I had talked about. When I brought it up, she told me we’d better set this meeting up.”

“Bulstrode and Granger have been looking into erumpent horns,” Powell tells Ron and Harry. “And Potter and Weasley have been working on a smuggling case.” Hermione and Millicent look at each other, and then at Ron and Harry. Obviously they hadn’t been allowed to talk about it, but Hermione knows that Ron has been working on one case for the past two and a half years, that Harry and he only work on other stuff where there is a very big emergency, that it has been hell to try to get anywhere with it.

“Shit,” she whispers, and even Powell cracks a smile at that. “Will you be taking it off of us?” She asks Murphy, hooking her foot behind Millicent’s. She _really_ doesn’t want that to happen.

“No,” he says. “Both of you have almost reached the end of the work-study programme and will be expected to handle your own cases soon anyway. The department and I will support you with pursuing this, as a part of an inter-ministry collaboration. I trust you won’t let us down.”

Hermione immediately has a million questions, but they are not relevant to the people in the room that are not Unspeakables. So she just nods and tries not to take Millie’s hand and grin too much because they are talking about serious crime here. 

Powell and Murphy talk them through how the collaboration is going to work, and before they know it Hermione and Millicent are on their way back down. They have a lecture to get to.

“You ok?” Hermione whispers, leaning her arm against Millie’s. Millicent smiles down at her, it feels a bit forced. They’re alone in the elevator, so Hermione presses a little kiss to her shoulder, and then it’s time to get out. 

There’s no time then, to talk, for a few days at least. They are told to drop everything to work on the case, so they spend most of their time in a little conference room with Ron and Harry getting brought up to speed and telling them about what they’ve found. When it comes to the next step, Hermione volunteers Millie and herself to go down to the archives to see if they really are the first people to make this connection. Ron and Harry seem to think someone from inside the Ministry must be helping them, for them to be this successful. 

The archives are empty besides the whirring and hissing of the lights. Even the old witch that is responsible for the front desk is rarely there. So the first thing Hermione does is kiss Millicent. “There isn’t time,” Millie protests, but she’s kissing her back and that’s enough for now.

“I miss this,” Hermione whispers, and it is very very true. She pets Millie’s dear warm face, leaves her hair alone so she won’t need to redo it. Traces a beautiful eyebrow. 

“Does he know?” Millicent asks, like she doesn’t really expect an answer.

“Of course,” Hermione promises. “He’s just trying to be professional about it.” Millicent melts a little at that, and sudden tears sting Hermione’s eyes. “Do you know who else knows?”

“Mm,” Millie hums, softening, slowly relaxing into their kiss.

“My parents,” Hermione says. “My friends from the book club.”

“Oh,” Millicent laughs. It bubbles between them. Like it’s alright now. 

“Should’ve told you sooner.”

“Glad we were alone when you did,” Millie murmurs against her lips, forgiveness in her voice. “My team knows, and my family. And my friends.”

Hermione hadn’t told her to hear it back, but it makes her feel light and happy all the same. She can’t help but smile, and feels Millie smile back, even as they keep kissing.

A creak from the door reminds them that they are supposed to be doing work, but they tangle their feet under the table where they pile their stacks of papers and binders, and every now and then Hermione looks up to find Millie staring at a page, taking notes, chewing her bottom lip. It’s rather wonderful.

Despite the case going on, Ron decides not to cancel his housewarming party. Hermione grumbles the whole time they’re getting ready to leave about wanting alone time with Millicent, and goes anyway. Of course she does. The apartment is tiny but nice, a few streets away from Diagon Alley, with a balcony that runs along the whole side of it. Hermione longs to stand on it, to feel the night air on her face, forces herself to be polite and stay where the conversation is. Luckily she manages to claim a spot on the sofa. 

She’s not sure how they got to the topic of people holding hands but can’t help herself when Harry says: “It’s not always easy not to stare, even if you don’t mean to. Could be a – a recognition.”

“Is that how it is for you?” Hermione asks Harry, before remembering that they’re in company. She turns to look at Pansy, who only looks interested in the answer, and then back to Harry, who is chewing his bottom lip as he thinks it over. He answers before she can tell him he doesn’t have to.

“Not really,” he says finally. “But I do feel the same in that I can’t look at a queer couple kissing and think that it is normal.”

“Makes me feel like I’m doing something… bad,” Hermione says, sitting back, holding on to the pillow she’d put in her lap a while ago. Ron did surprisingly well on this sofa.

“It’s not bad,” Pansy looks at her, uncanny sharp hair, uncanny all-seeing eyes. “Feelings aren’t bad. They just are, what you do with them matters.”

Harry laughs a little uncomfortably. “You sound like Dumbledore,” he says, and Pansy jerks one shoulder up and back a little. Elegant as anything, somehow.

“Snape’s words, actually.” They’re all quiet at that. Then Pansy looks up again. “Unless you’re going to have a gay panic and go back to ginger boys of course. Are you?”

“Don’t answer that,” Millicent says, stepping neatly around Pansy and handing Hermione her GT. Hermione grins up at her, she hadn’t needed rescuing. 

“I will not be going back to ginger boys,” she tells Pansy. “Not that it’s any of your business of course. Unlike what’s his name? Elfie?”

“Alfie,” Pansy corrects, with a frown, and Millicent can probably guess what this will end up with because she hisses.

“Alright!” She says, a bit loud, and Cassius looks over from where he was gesturing wildly at the Chudley Cannons décor. “Hey Cassius,” Millie says, having noticed him looking too. “You know Big Chunk? That’s Hermione’s cat.”

Cassius makes a face that opens into a wide happy grin. “Princess Squashmonster?”

“Baby Hagrid?!” Pansy chimes in, high pitched enough that everyone else in the room hears too. 

The rest of the evening Hermione is forced to explain to everyone that no – she does not have baby pictures of Crookshanks, and yes – she does have a picture, and yes – he is still a sweet baby.

“It’s nothing against you,” Pansy says when Hermione goes to put away her empty beer bottle in the recycling. It makes her jump but she steps onto the balcony proper and closes the door behind her. Might as well deal with this. She says no thank you to the offer of a cigarette and leans her hip against the wall.

“What is it then?”

“We all grew up together,” she says as she exhales into the night. That’s not news to Hermione, she’s heard the stories of what Vincent and Draco used to get up to when they were bored while studying stuffy etiquette and history lessons in the library of whoever was hosting that day. “And I suppose I assumed there would be a lasting… sameness.” She looks at Hermione, her perfect makeup and still-round face making her look even more shrewd somehow. “Millicent was the first to be obviously not interested in being like how we were raised to be.” She shrugs as she says it. “I’ve done horrible things and try to compensate by making sure nobody hurts her again.”

That Hermione can understand. She sits on the edge of the balcony, leans back to look at the stars. Not that there’s many of those over London. “It’s strange to me too,” she admits, and then she sits up again to look at Pansy. It is. At Ron’s housewarming, his new flat, surrounded by their friends and faced with his life without her. 

They both startle when the door opens, and Ginny leans through. She freezes, seems to notice she’s interrupted something. “Excellent timing Weasley,” Pansy teases, but Hermione opens her arms wide.

Ginny accepts a hug and a kiss on her cheek. “Join us?” Hermione offers. “We were just about to talk about your brother’s crap taste in wallpaper.”

The next day already finds them back in the archives, and it takes three more days but they do find one other reference to erumpents, a complaint that was never followed up on from an address that neither of them has ever heard off. It’s extremely far north. Harry takes that one, and Ron and Hermione brainstorm on what to do next while Millie gets them coffee. When she comes back with nice coffee, just how Hermione likes it, Hermione swings forward for a kiss and Millie steps back. Ron hasn’t even noticed, he has his back to them and is writing on the blackboard. But that’s alright.

“Thank you,” Hermione whispers instead, and Millie nods a little. There’s something in her eyes Hermione doesn’t like, but it will have to wait. 

Harry comes back from an island in the middle of the hissing spitting ice cold sea drained beyond belief with a grin on his face that threatens to split him open. “I think I found him.” He says, and they’ve all been through this a hundred times so Millicent is the one that asks him all the questions while Hermione conjures a towel and Ron tells Harry that if he wants to drown himself he could be doing it in London.

It’d be fun – in an ironic sort of way – if this was how they find him. Because he just couldn’t shut up about being right about Potions. 

When Hermione tells Millicent that, she only shrugs a little. “That’s assuming it wasn’t a deliberate breadcrumb.” Slytherins, Hermione wants to say because she’s feeling more than a little fond. She doesn’t because it’s not untrue, is it? The assumption that things are deliberate is a rather double-edged sword.

“You’re probably right,” Hermione admits. “You know him better than I do.”

Millie’s back becomes a little looser and Hermione pulls her in for a quick peck on her cheek. They’re walking through the London streets together, hoping for inspiration from the late-night fresh air. It’s hard to feel like it’s summer when they spend all their days inside. Millicent opens her mouth to say something and Hermione can’t help but interrupt.

“You’ll come for dinner, right?” She blurts out. “Sorry,” she says then, for interrupting and for being vague. “With my parents I mean. At their house.”

Millie turns to her, fond and quietly overwhelmed. Pets her face. “Yes,” she promises. “I think I know how we can solve it.”

“Ok – wait what?” Hermione stammers, trying to catch up. “Was that what you were going to say? Or is it because of –”

“No,” Millie laughs. “You asking me to meet your parents didn’t magically give me the solution to the case.” Hermione laughs back, relieved to be held and looked at with such warmth. “Come, let’s get back to work. Give the boys a run for their money.”

They spend most of the night on it, taking only a quick nap curled up on a conjured mattress together while one of their Potions simmers. In the morning they are waiting for Ron and Harry with three vials in front of them.

“We solved it,” Millie starts, at their confusion.

“Well, Millie did,” Hermione corrects, and Millicent shakes no.

“It was your suggestion,” she tells Ron. “That we’d need a safe way to find the smugglers. And yours,” she looks at Harry, “that following the money isn’t proof enough.”

“This,” Hermione holds up a vial. “Is an extremely potent extract of horned toad saliva. If we spray it on anyone that has been smuggling erumpent anything, they’ll glow orange.”

“It’ll be dead easy to get a warrant for it,” Ron grins, catching on fast. “But they’ll worry it’ll make them explode and maybe they’ll confess.”

“If even one person confesses...” Harry adds. And that is how they solve it.

They celebrate by taking the whole weekend off from work. Millie takes Hermione to the British Museum and on Sunday morning they go on a ramble through the forest near the Bulstrode’s house. Afterwards they go back to London, have lunch, shower. 

Hermione sits on the bed while Millicent showers, still in a pullover and underwear only, reading her book club with one hand. In her other hand she’s holding a mug of tea that is too hot to drink still, but she’s not paying attention to it. She whispers the words she’s reading to herself, hoping to make sense of it fast enough. When she sets the mug on her stomach to turn a page, she notices that Millicent is staring at her. Her hair is still dripping, her frown is stern. “What?”

“You’ll hurt yourself,” Millie says, frowning at the mug Hermione is holding again. Hermione notices where her skin is red with almond-shaped blotches where she’s pressed the mug against her thighs and then switched to another bit of skin when it got too hot.

“It’ll fade,” Hermione promises. It always does. She’s not actually hurting herself just – 

“Stop,” Millicent says, when she’s about to demonstrate that it’s not that hot by pressing the mug against her leg again. Hermione freezes in place and Millicent sits on the bed, turns to be between Hermione’s legs. She takes the book, places it face down on the table, in the way her grandmother always said would hurt the back of the book, places the mug next to it.

“Millie,” Hermione complains. She wants to finish the chapter so they can spend the last bit of their Sunday doing something else. But Millicent leans in for a kiss and what can you say to that?

“What’d you do it for?” Millicent whispers between them, as they kiss, and Hermione has to work really hard to think of an answer. Especially when her face is cupped and her hands drift to Millie’s sides and they kiss and kiss. 

“Grounds me,” she says eventually, when she manages to remember the question. Like standing helps her read sometimes, like brushing her teeth helps her remember things. “I like how it feels, too.”

Millicent kisses her once more, and she’s smiling like she’s proud which probably shouldn’t make Hermione feel like she’s been liquidized. She takes off her pullover and while she’s trying to get her head free, she hears a little crack. She blinks at Millie when she’s tossed her pullover aside, at the candle Millicent is holding. “I like that you melt them down,” Millicent says, candle in one hand, her hand fishing around in her pocket even though her wand is on the bedside table, next to Hermione’s. “A sticking charm would be easier.” It would be, but Hermione rarely remembers that it’s an option before she’s lit a match, held it to the bottom of a new candle, watched it drip into the candle holder. 

“Millie?” she gasps when she sees what Millicent had been digging around for. Her pocket knife. It clicks when it opens, sharp as only well-loved knives are. Hermione struggles to breathe, tries to swallow it down, and loves the glint in Millicent’s eyes as she sits between Hermione’s spread legs and digs the tip of the knife into the candle. Hermione can’t see what she’s doing and she digs her fingertips into her thighs to stop herself from looking. The wax shavings rain down on her thighs, tickling her skin, making goose bumps travel up her sides.

Finally Millicent smiles, blows to get rid of the bits of wax on the candle, and sets the knife aside. She blows once more at the candle, and this time it lights the candle. Hermione has seen Millie do this before, but she’s never thought it hot before. She knows instantly that she’ll never be able to consider it anything but hot ever again.

Her breathing is shallow and when Millicent lays one warm hand on her knee, pets her a little with one sweeping thumb, Hermione squirms. She can tell from the way she feels cold when she moves that she must be dripping, and somehow that makes it all even more arousing. Millicent is holding a burning candle, is still wearing the leggings and jumper she went to the bakery in this morning, she’s looking at Hermione like she sees all the way through her. “You tell me,” she says, and Hermione nods.

“Yes,” she says. “Absolutely.”

“If I ask you to hold still,” Millicent asks as she resettles, “can you tell me honestly that you’ll be able to do that?” 

Hermione thinks about it. She takes hold of the headboard above her head, wriggles down lower so she’s on her back properly. Looks down at her ankles. “No,” she says. “My hands – yes but not...”

Millicent charms the candle to hover over Hermione's stomach with little more than a stern look it seems, and sets about to find the ankle straps, tying them to the bedposts efficiently. Not fast enough though. The candle has started to drip, melting the wax enough to brighten the flame before causing little spills to form drops down the sides of the candle. The drops end lower and lower as the flame burns hotter, and the first drop that falls, right as Millicent is tucking in the end of the strap she’s just tightened, seems to cut through the air as if in slow motion. Slower than it should and faster than Hermione can prepare for what it will feel like, it hits the skin of her stomach, hot-cold in its intense temperature, impossible to pin down until it starts to cool. The next drop does feel cold when it hits Hermione and that must have been what Millicent carved into the candle. The temperature varies every time, also when Millie starts moving the candle with her hand, dripping on Hermione’s arms and legs and Hermione strains and squirms and finally begs Millicent to please please – 

Millicent Banishes her underwear somehow and the cold air is enough to make Hermione’s stomach clench, never mind the wax dripping on her shoulder. With one hand on her thigh, the other holding the candle, Millicent looks at her, settles the candle in place, so that it drips right over Hermione’s sternum, and then she kneels low between Hermione’s legs. Wastes not a single second, starts sucking as Hermione feels a scream building in her chest, where the wax hits her differently depending on which way she’s turned in the hope of avoiding the onslaught of sensation as her hands clench so tight it hurts. When she comes she is so out of breath she makes a sound she hadn’t thought herself capable of making, her legs shaking next to Millie’s head, her back arched all the way. 

She shivers all over when Millicent lets her down, holding onto her hips still, and Hermione twists to get the wax to run down to where she wants.

“No,” Millicent says, and Hermione whines. “No – no you’ll hurt, it’ll hurt you.”

“Please,” begs Hermione, “you’ve spelled it safe I know you have you can check me for burns after please let me please I want –” She cries out again when Millicent takes the candle out of mid-air, drips slowly over Hermione’s mons. “In me,” Hermione begs, and Millicent slides two fingers in, seems to understand what Hermione needs from her high-pitched pleas, the stuttering of her hips. The temperature differences jolt through her whole body and the drying flaking wax pulls at her skin with every movement and Millicent fucks her just right with her fingers, keeps her close and real with the press of her legs against Hermione’s and Hermione comes again, like it’s ripped out of her, shivers as she tries to breathe. 

“Stop,” she says, and Millicent jolts like she’s been shocked. Blows out the candle, unties Hermione, while Hermione lets go of the bed slowly, mindful of how brittle her fingers feel, rubs the life back into them until Millicent won’t meet her eye when minutes ago she’d been alive and alight and fiercely in control. “Come here,” Hermione urges, and Millicent comes willingly, pants into Hermione’s collarbone and whimpers like it was too much for her. “You’re alright,” Hermione promises into her hair, and she lifts up so Millicent can snake arms around her waist. They tangle their legs together and Hermione whispers everything that comes to mind. “That was amazing,” she says. “How did you even think to spell the candle,” she lets the wonder she feels at Millicent’s cleverness, her bright quick thoughts, shine through. Slowly Millicent’s breathing changes, and then they’re kissing again. Not hurrying at all, rolling their hips together in a rhythm so natural that it takes Hermione a while to realize what they’re doing. 

“Use your hand,” she urges, still a whisper, and Millicent pushes up onto her knees, just far enough away from Hermione that she can lean on one hand and slip the other into her leggings. Far away enough that Hermione can see her pinched-closed eyes, her tight concentrated mouth. She doesn’t need to check to know that Millicent is using four fingers, rapid circles, just the way she likes it – and when Millicent collapses on top of her again, shuddering still, she summons a spare duvet from the wardrobe, drapes it over both of them best she can, and kisses Millicent’s forehead as they try to decide if this is an experience they’ll be repeating. 

  
  


Dinner with Hermione’s parents goes about as well as can be expected. Millie’s exposure to Muggles is essentially limited to water polo, and her parents are very curious. Luckily her parents know about Hermione’s work, and how much they aren’t allowed to know about it. Luckily Millicent was raised with such strict etiquette that she just follows everyone’s lead when it comes to eating. Luckily she likes spicy food. 

“She’s like you, isn’t she?” Hermione’s dad asks her when Millie is helping her mum in the kitchen, probably very baffled at the idea of doing anything as mundane as dishes by hand. For a second Hermione wonders if her dad means into women, which should at this point definitely be obvious. “Whole world on her shoulders,” he continues then, “always thinking she can make it better by pushing just a little harder.” And it’s fair, and also a very generous way to describe what Hermione has always thought of as her swotty obsessive side. She swallows down the feeling in her throat and her dad kisses her hair. “Let’s help your mum and get dessert on the table, yeah?”

Dessert, it turns out, has only just been put into the oven, and so Hermione’s parents decide to add to Hermione’s embarrassment and Millicent’s confusion by putting on Muggle music, low but definitely opera. 

“This was Hermione’s favourite,” her mum says, smiling fondly. “When she was a little two-year-old toddling about in diapers, she used to always ask us to put on a record and she’d dance about with no regard to what was playing.”

Hermione dares Millie to say she still does that with a look, but her parents catch it and laugh. “See if we have a picture,” her dad says, standing up already.

“No - dad,” she protests, “that’s not – I’m almost thirty.” _Not hardly,_ she hears her mum mumble.

“Oh please, Mr Granger,” Millie says, a hand on Hermione’s knee to stop her from getting up. “I would love to see some pictures.”

“Call me Albert,” her dad says, and Hermione groans. 

Before she wants to actually melt, Hermione gets up to get the apple crumble from the oven. She hears her dad explaining all the pictures she knows to Millie. The one from her mum’s first winter, the one from when they’d graduated. Wedding photos. How pink Hermione had been. The one time she’d met her grandparents on her mum’s side. 

When she walks back into the sitting room with a laden tray, her parents and Millie are sitting on the sofa. Identical looks of fondness on their faces when they look at Hermione on a swing, screaming her head off with joy. She forgives them before she’s set the tray down. Scrapes her throat to be able to speak. “Tea, anyone?”

“Shame they don’t move,” Millicent says when they’re getting changed for bed. Hermione’s brushed her teeth already and is very busy curling up in the most comfortable way under sheets that are still cold. 

“What?” Is all she manages, unable to remember if they’d been talking about anything.

Millicent disappears into the bathroom for a second and turns off the lights behind her when she comes back out. Joins Hermione in bed and puts a hand on Hermione’s thigh, almost shyly. “The pictures,” she explains. “Would’ve loved to see you – to see what you moved like.”

Hermione crawls in closer, lets herself get wrapped up in Millie’s arms, loves the way it fills her whole heart when the top of her head gets kissed. 

> Image Description: The scene takes place Hermione's parents living room, soft and elegant atmosphere. Millie, the mother, and the father are looking at an old photo album, smiling. The mother explains something while laughing. Millie looks fond of what she sees. Everybody looks peaceful, close together on the beige couch. They share an expression of fondness. Millie wears a dark green jacket, a black bowtie and a white shirt, and grey socks. Hermione's father is almost bald, wearing a casual yellow jumper. In the background are several oceanian indigenous objects used as decoration. The cushions have a wax pattern, and so does the fireplace. In the mirror, hanging over the fireplace, we see Hermione's reflection as she joins the scene, kinda reflective. She brings tea. She wears a blue headband and top. Art by impasse-trash. End description.

The press get wind of the case, of course, and reporters fall over themselves with eagerness to get quotes about _The_ _Golden Trio Back Together_. No one seems to know what to do with Millicent, who looks awkward in pictures that get taken of them, and doesn’t want to speak at the press conference that the head of MLE pushes for in a grand show of interdepartmental collaboration and ministry unity and all that. Hermione throws an enormous fit and ends up getting the single lectern instead of a long table. Ron reads the text they’d prepared beforehand together, and answers all the questions with dignity. He refers to them as an excellent team, and Millicent as a brilliant mind. It helps a little, the coverage the next day is mostly about the case. 

As more arrests happen, and cases start being heard in front of the Wizengamot, they work to identify Potions ingredients they find, unravel networks and try to plan for the power vacuum that’s going to be created in the British black market for Potions ingredients after almost forty arrests in two months. This part requires the assistance of many Aurors, and as many Unspeakables, and Ron, Harry, Millicent, and Hermione find themselves in their conference trying to coordinate all these people and their schedules most days. 

It’s nice to be able to bask in the normality of water polo for a while, which means Hermione starts tagging along to matches more. Still it surprises her when the team recognizes Hermione, greets her in the parking lot like they’re happy to see her. 

They’re in a tiny recreational centre in a town that hardly seems large enough to have a pool at all, but Millicent had warned here – these people are fanatics. The smell of old carpet and chlorine greets them, and then a voice echoes out from the hall, when somebody walking in front of them opens the door from the reception area.

“AND OF COURSE TYLDESLEY SHALL ONCE MORE PROVE VICTORIOUS!”

Something about it is familiar and Hermione hasn’t figured out what it is yet when she kisses Millicent good luck and says hi to the kid she remembers from last time and some other spouses and family members of Millie’s team. When she walks into the hall though, the wet heat and smell of chlorine hit her at the same time as one very important observation does.

“Luna?” she asks, a bit too loud, too surprised to hide it, and Luna turns around with a beatific smile on her face. Her hair is short and blond enough to be invisible, and she’s wearing a floor-length mermaid-style dress. Covered in glitter.

“Hermione!” Luna cheers, and they hug, Luna warmly and Hermione awkwardly.

“How,” Hermione starts, but she’s not sure how to finish the sentence. Defaults to boring politeness. “What – what brings you here?” 

“Oh we live here,” Luna says, breezily, and Hermione believes it too. If anybody would be fascinating enough to live inside a Muggle pool it would be Luna. But Luna continues. “Just up the road, in an old farm we’ve been working on.”

And she _had_ known that. “Yes of course!” Hermione feels on more even footing now. “The art gallery. Ginny mentioned it.”

Luna greets everybody that walks through the doors with a dazzling smile and a little wave, the queen of Tyldesley, apparently. “How did you end up at the pool?”

“Ginny likes to swim,” Luna says, a bit distracted by the people walking around everywhere. Then she seems to realise something. “How about you?”

“Millicent likes to swim too,” Hermione says, and she can feel how it makes her smile, does nothing to pretend she isn’t fond down to her toes. 

As if on cue the team walks out of the dressing room, in their matching bathrobes. Millicent winks at Hermione and then falters when she sees Luna, which makes Hermione laugh. The opposing team walks out from the other side, but they are all wearing tatty bathrobes, mismatched colours, different styles and lengths. At least one person is wearing silk. Hermione would underestimate them, but she knows the glint in their eyes, they have come here to win.

She’s right, this match is far more intense than any others she’s seen. Both teams tumble over each other, nobody looks away from the ball, there’s shouting and spluttering and coughing and the echo of everybody in the audience holding their breath. Until Millicent, holding the ball, kicks up and swings the ball and it makes a perfect arch into the goal. The first one of the game, everybody is on their feet, Hermione is screaming the loudest. “BULLSTRODE SCORES,” echoes Luna’s voice. Millicent shines with smugness as she floats on her back, gets into position. 

And then it starts again. 

Both teams score over and over again, with Tyldesley pulling out in front early and although Millie’s team keeps scoring too, they don’t end up catching up. 

The match was so fascinating and full of tension though, that at the end of it Hermione feels like she’s had a work-out too. Leaving the pool is a shock of cold air and lack of echo after an afternoon in the humidity, but when Millie’s teammates go _pub?_ Hermione wants in. “Let’s,” she tells the question on Millicent’s face. She gets a kiss for her trouble, bright happy eyes as Millicent touches her ear with endless tenderness. “Will the other team be there?”

“They have their own party,” Millicent says, with a nod back to where they came from. It makes sense, but it would have been nice to talk to Luna a bit more. 

The pub is warm and familiar, steeped in the scent of beer and wood. There’s enough space for them to drag two tables together, and soon the whole team is sitting around, and a tray of pints and bottles arrives to be passed around. Hermione wants to know about the game.

“We weren’t playing to win,” Millicent says, and she follows it with a sip from her bottle. 

“Hmm,” hums Sophie. “They’re so good, but mostly just so determined.”

“Does that make it harder?” Hermione wonders, and Barbara shrugs. But Millicent looks at her.

“We come here to give them a good match, they deserve it, they work so hard.”

“Yeah,” Sophie agrees, “well said Mills.”

 _Mills._ Hermione smiles at it and Millie smiles at her and they tangle their ankles together under the table. Might order some fries.

“Hello, Henrietta,” Hermione greets her when she notices her sitting in the front room. She bends down for a kiss on Henrietta’s cheek. “Have you had dinner yet?” She’s very full from dinner with Harry but would be happy to keep Henrietta company of course. 

“Hello,” Henrietta answers. She was reading the paper but folds it to look at Hermione seriously. “I have, but never mind that. She’s upstairs. Have you read the paper today?” 

“No?” Hermione takes off her bag and stands in front of Henrietta, eager to see Millicent even after only a few hours apart. 

“This one,” Henrietta finds a page and turns it to Hermione. Her and Millicent holding hands, both of them leaving Hermione’s flat together. Laughing. Weekend clothes. Fuck. The text is even worse. _Best Friends Spotted in London Park_ , goes the title. The press have been unsure how to refer to Millicent these past weeks. Everything from former rivals to gal pals has been thrown around. At least this is better than last week’s _The Golden Foursome?_ “You should tell them,” Henrietta says, and Hermione’s been thinking that. Hasn’t really wanted to deal with it. 

“And how do you propose we do that?” Millicent says as she steps into the room. She’s still wearing work clothes but her hair is a mess. She greets Hermione with a little smile and nothing else. “Send some pictures to Rita Skeeter? Request a corrigendum be printed? Excuse me, we’re actually big ol’ lesbians?”

“Millicent,” her grandmother chides, at the same time that Hermione mumbles _speak for yourself._

“She’s not wrong,” Hermione says. “We don’t need to print a coming out, but why don’t you come as my date to the Quibbler thing this weekend? If someone asks we’ll just tell them the truth.”

“Thought you weren’t planning on attending,” Millicent protests, and what Hermione hears is _I’m scared._

“You know how your grandfather and I used to deal with press?” Henrietta asks, and Hermione is curious to know but Millie sighs like they’ve been over this a million times.

“Go to the sea,” she says, utterly bored.

“That’s a great idea.” Hermione feels, immediately, that it’s true. “We’ll just fuck off – sorry Henrietta. Somewhere no one lives, like Cornwall, just a few days. We’re owed it for overtime.”

Millicent is full of doubt and they both notice it. Henrietta and Hermione look at each other, and finally Henrietta sighs. “Think about it, sweetheart.” She motions _away_ with her hand. “Go on, this is not a conversation about me anyway.”

“We’re very lucky,” Hermione realizes when they’re on their way to Millicent’s rooms. Millie turns around to look at her, still frowning. “Remember when Pansy was photographed with that Muggle boy and her mum made it all about her?”

Millie chuckles and keeps going up the stairs. Leads them into her bedroom and changes out of her work clothes at last. Her back towards Hermione, but then you can’t have everything. They settle on the sofa in front of the fire in Millicent’s little sitting room. A tray appears with some food and tea pretty soon after they settle. “Thank you,” they both mumble to the empty room.

Millie takes a deep breath in, and lets it out very slowly. Then she nods. “Let’s do it.”

  
  


Hermione makes her an appointment for the next day at a tailor in London, and doesn’t tell Millie about it until they’re standing in front of the shop. “You’re serious,” Millicent says, awe and stress in her voice. 

“The only thing we need to decide,” says Hermione, “is if I wear a dress, or if you’d feel more comfortable not being the only one in a suit.”

“Can I decide in an hour?” Millicent asks, and Hermione wrinkles her nose as she scoffs. _Obviously_. She tugs her inside and gets to watch as Millicent tries to explain what she is looking for. They settle on a very old-fashioned men’s tuxedo because Wizarding fashion is at least a hundred years behind anyway with a cravat instead of a bowtie. The picking of fabrics is an endless back and forth and Hermione is almost asleep in the comfortable armchair she’s waiting in when a shop assistant comes to bring her some tea. 

“Thank you,” she smiles as she sits up.

“It’ll be very nice, I’m sure,” he says, politely. “Is Ceylon alright?”

“That’s perfect thank you,” she says, and then before she can think to monitor her tone, “she’s stunning no matter what but I can’t wait to see her in a tuxedo.”

The assistant turns to look at her, then smiles very widely. “What will you be wearing?” And shit. She hadn’t even thought about it. 

They go see Hermione’s mum’s friend after, and Hermione gets a pinched cheek and a beautiful jewel-toned blue dress that is altered for her on the spot as she and Maria catch up on gossip. “There you go sweetheart,” Maria says when Hermione pays. 

“Thank you,” she sighs, “you’re a life-saver.”

“Nothing for your girl?” Maria asks as she hands Hermione the bag. Millie has been quiet, touching fabrics about the little shop, looking at walls plastered with designs and scraps of fabric and shiny little buttons.

“I’ll be wearing a suit,” Millicent says, out loud for the first time, turning around with a bright smile. “But you have a beautiful shop, and I believe I’ve seen Hermione in your dresses often. Your designs are positively magical.”

Maria laughs, and Hermione winks at her, waves goodbye with the promise to say hi to her mum.

Henrietta takes one peek at the dress in Hermione’s bag and demands to be taken upstairs immediately. It takes a while, as always, but when she’s sitting in her chair in her bedroom, Hermione feels like she’s been let in somewhere desperately private. There’s pictures all around, faded or newer, waving people, plenty of frowns too. Millicent’s posture and eyes and the familiar line of her jaw.

“My wardrobe,” Henrietta orders, and Millicent opens it up, carefully, with both hands. “Top shelf, second from the left. Show me? No, the next one. That one – yes. And the next one too.”

Two baskets overflowing with shiny silk stand on her neatly-made bed. 

“Hermione if you’d put that dress on the bed, then we can find out which one is the best match.” She pulls forth an ancient-looking wand and turns up the lights with a little flick. Millie starts laying the scarves and handkerchiefs of all sizes neatly on the bed, and another little flick just upends the baskets. “Obviously think about how big it should be too,” she holds her hands apart a distance, “about that but square, I should think. Not sure you’d like a lavallière but a proper neckcloth might… Well lets just have a look.”

Hermione holds one with a busy garden pattern up, decides it might work, lays it apart from the others. There’s a fussy one with a jewel-pattern that has a very good colour. Henrietta holds one up with keys and locks and grins at Millicent in a way Hermione doesn’t understand until Millie blushes a deep red. It’d get the point across to the more symbolic people there, in any case. In the end Millicent holds up a simple scarf with an animal pattern. It’s the care with which she holds it that catches Hermione’s attention. 

Millie grins at her grandma as she touches it. “Smells like him,” she says, and Henrietta smiles back, soft in a way she rarely is. Hermione holds up the dress and it’s just the same colour as the background of the animal pattern. There’s different shades of red and yellow and from a bit away it would be impossible to tell that it’s covered in peacocks and unicorns and... a phoenix, and there’s a deer. Hermione stands close to Millie to be able to see.

“I could look at it forever,” she admits.

“That’s how you know it’s well-made,” Henrietta says. “Take it,” she urges Millie, “he’d be so proud of you, princess.” 

“I’m literally going to a dance in men’s clothes,” Millicent protests.

Her grandmother laughs. “Doesn’t mean you won’t inherit the throne.”

Of all of it, the hardest thing in the end is deciding which shiny dress shoes of Millicent’s are going to get worn with the suit. She looks absolutely amazing. Much as Hermione is normally definitely shorter than Millie, in tall heels the arm around her waist sits differently. She finds she likes it. They grin at each other in the mirror, and Millicent is entirely at ease until they walk into the hall they keep the printing presses in at the Quibbler. Everything has been moved to the side for the occasion, and the space feels formal and functional and entirely appropriate for the awarding of the Wizarding Press Awards. Harry and Ron greet them both happily and Hermione and Millicent make sure not to sit with them so no one could mistake this evening for a double date. Over the gala dinner, between the courses and the glittering of glassware, Hermione asks everyone she talks to if they’ve met her girlfriend Millicent. Bulstrode, yes. Millicent has to tell almost everyone that the house is fine, thank you, and so is their seat in the Wizengamot. 

Millicent’s brother strolls up to them like he was expecting to see them. “Hello,” he greets his sister and Hermione both with a kiss on the cheek. “You both look very well.”

“Thank you,” Hermione smiles at him. “How are you?”

They have their picture taken like this, Hermione leaning in to Millicent, an arm around her waist, both of them chatting with her brother, the eldest male Bulstrode heir. 

  
  


It works, but they don’t find out about that for another week. They spend six excellent days strolling through Sennen, wearing jeans and t-shirts and getting their cuffs wet every time they take off their shoes to stand in the sea for a bit. The cottage Henrietta apparently spent much of her childhood at (and how Hermione had blushed when she found out that people do live in Cornwall) is surprisingly simple and easy to navigate, once they’ve convinced the resident owl family that they are supposed to be there and also are willing to share. 

The first night they spend in Cornwall they have cheese toasties for dinner because they forgot to do proper groceries before everything closed. Tired and ready for a couple of days with absolutely no interruptions, they change for bed and lie down under unfamiliar but clean sheets in a comfortable bed. Hermione wiggles a little closer to Millicent, and a hand settles on her stomach. She leans back for a kiss and the hand wriggles a little lower. She picks it up and puts it back on her stomach. Feels herself blush. “Sorry, it’s. Should’ve realized, but I hoped it wouldn’t be… well.”

“Sweetheart,” Millicent mumbles, endlessly fond, “you don’t need a reason not to want to. And if it’s that you don’t want to that’s perfectly fine, but your period is not a reason for me not to.”

Hermione turns around in Millicent’s arms and kisses her properly. The hand around her stays on her back and Hermione moves it a little lower. The sensation is more muted through the double-layered underwear, spelled to vanish blood. With some enthusiasm and plenty of warmth she rolls Millicent a little further back and sits up a little to push up the shirt she’s sleeping in. She kisses her nipples, knowing it doesn’t do all that much for Millie, and kisses her stomach too, because she loves it. “Sorry,” she says, pausing and looking up at the light in Millicent’s eyes. “You just said that and then I didn’t ask.”

Millicent pulls her in for another kiss. “I love it that you like what I look like,” she promises. “And I’d tell you if there’s something I’m not happy with or if there’s something I’d rather keep for another day. You should do the same.”

Hermione settles down besides Millicent again, hand still on her stomach, petting her. “Like is not quite strong enough,” she promises. “And… I guess it seems like one of those rules that shouldn’t apply to me. Like if you wouldn’t want something I would immediately not want it either, but then if you do want something – it’s like I should at least try to want it too.”

Millicent’s hand on her hip squeezes and moves around to pull her in by her arse. “I know,” she whispers. She probably does.

Hermione moves her hand into Millie’s pyjama trousers and grins when she realizes she isn’t wearing any underwear. “I don’t like sleeping in it,” Millicent blushes deep. “That first night actually – I couldn’t wear that horrible stomach-murdering stuff and eat pizza, so I just – told myself I’d wash your things for you.”

Hermione laughs and traces through thick scratchy hair over Millie’s mons. It’s hotter, and damper, when she works her way down. “I wouldn’t have been able to have an intelligent conversation if I’d been imagining this all night,” Hermione confesses, “so it’s probably for the best.”

“You looked so beautiful,” Millicent admits, her eyes closing, pulling a face as Hermione dips inside a little and spreads her wetness around. “And then you let me touch your hair and sleep next to you and I was so worried – that.”

Hermione wiggles free her other hand and uses it to pull Millicent’s face closer, so they’re all the way entwined, still just gently playing with her but kissing like she means it. 

“Never thought,” Millicent whispers, shudders a little. “You look at me like –”

“Me neither,” Hermione promises, slipping two fingers into Millicent at once, starting on wet rapid circles that make her twitch. “You know what I was thinking yesterday?”

Millicent’s eyes fly open and Hermione’s hips twitch in response and she realizes that she’s been rolling her hips this whole time, and that Millicent’s hand, outside of her panties still, is rubbing against her arse. It feels – rather great, actually. “Mm,” Millicent urges, frowning a little in concentration, starting to flush pink and stutter her hips.

“That you looked so handsome,” Hermione says, “I don’t know if that’s something you’d rather I not say, but I thought it. Your shoulders in that jacket, your hair all done, the silk around your neck. And then you’d look at me and I know you’re beautiful too, and I’d see it all at once.” Millicent bends her head at that, hides against Hermione as she comes, fingers clenching almost painfully around the buttock she’s still holding. She stops Hermione’s already-slowing movements with another shudder. Kisses her firmly. 

With Millicent’s weight on top of her, unable to do much more than kiss back with fervour and work her hands under her shirt and pet her back, Hermione _wants_. “Please,” she whines, trying to move her hips to get any sort of useful friction.

“One second,” Millicent offers back, and then she pushes off and walks across the room. Hermione’s twitching hands pull the covers over her, suddenly cold now that Millicent is gone. Millicent returns with a towel and a little bottle that she hands over to Hermione with heat and eagerness in her eyes. _Samantha Succubus’ Essential Ever-Lasting Lubrication – Now Flavourless!_ She nods and nods and lets Millicent work a towel between her bum and the bed, doesn’t feel the cold as much with Millie bracketed by her legs. Besides, the goose bumps add to where her nipples are hard and almost oversensitive, she feels utterly naked and adored as she sees the way Millicent drinks her in while helping her out of her panties. The reverence with which Millie kisses her, before spreading her properly, almost like a _there you are_. Millicent pours a small amount of the lube into her hand and caps the bottle again, lays it down by Hermione’s head. She dips a finger into it and rubs it, gently over Hermione’s hood. Then she dips her finger in again, and nudges Hermione to move down a little, bend her knees more, open up. 

“If you don’t –”

“Yeah,” Hermione promises, “but I do.”

The first touch makes something in her stomach flutter, excitement, more than the actual sensation, and as Millicent coats her whole index finger and with endless gentleness just rubs and pats, Hermione relaxes into it. The first flicker of a tongue against her hood, and then the other hand gently pulling to expose her distracts her plenty, and she lets herself drift, twitches her hands against Millicent’s shoulders, not wanting to distract her by touching her face. Every now and then Millie looks up at her, and she tells her to keep going with a sweep over her jaw.

The first breach is a surprise, and after that it’s just a new sensation, adding to the gentle sucking Millie has worked up to, that she keeps up when Hermione tells her to, until – “coming, coming, ah –”

Hermione pants and rolls through it, feels herself start to bleed and tries to apologize until Millie shushes her, helps her back into her underwear, and tells her to go pee.

“What?”

“‘S important,” Millie shrugs. “After sex.” With a startled laugh Hermione hauls herself up to sitting. 

“Alright,” she says, “but you first.” 

On their fifth day they decide to take a trip to St Michael’s Mount, which involves arguing over Muggle transportation, a lovely boat ride there, and a screaming and laughing run through the rising tide on the way back. When they stand on the beach again, shoes in hand, Hermione’s sundress soaking even though she was holding it, they fall into each other for a hungry kiss.

“Worth it,” Hermione declares, holding up her salvaged ice cream triumphantly. Millie takes her wrist and takes a bite of it before Hermione can stop her, then turns bright red with how cold it is, as Hermione cackles in the late afternoon sun. Hermione finds Millicent a tissue and some water in her backpack, grateful for the spells she’d unleashed on the thing before taking it on this trip. Everything inside including their travel guide is still dry.

When they get back to the cottage that evening they are so worn from the sun and the up-and-down in the castle and through the little medieval streets, that they decide they won’t go anywhere, tomorrow.

But tomorrow comes and it is so beautiful that Hermione takes her tea out into the overgrown garden, looking out at the cliffs and the horizon beyond. Millicent sits down next to her, still in sleep shorts and a sweater, kisses her hair. Hermione looks up and finds a sweet happy smile waiting for her.

“We can,” Millie promises.

They pack Hermione’s bag full of the strange crisps in flavours they’d never heard of before, and set off on a coastal hike. Slowly, since they’ll just Apparate back when they’re sick of it. 

They reach the sea easily, and follow the coastline, dipping nearer and further depending on how the cliffs run along the beach. When the sun is high, and they’ve climbed all the way up hill, Millie walks as close to the edge of the cliff as she can, and she stares out over the sea. Hermione takes a minute to just look at her, at ease and at home, fully herself. And then she walks up to Millicent, leans her forehead against her warm broad back. Wraps her arms around Millie’s waist, grins when Millicent turns to try and kiss her over her shoulder. 

“You’re missing the view,” she says, and Hermione feels her lungs move, her voice vibrating, stays safe in the circle of her arms. 

“Mm,” she hums, and Millie settles for that. When they both get stiff from standing, they spread the picnic blanket, share some sandwiches and chips, and lie in the grass, staring at fluffy clouds, blue endless sky. 

“Do you ever feel safe and covered by the sky?” Hermione asks, chewing thoughtfully on the cucumber they’re currently sharing.

“Sometimes,” Millie answers, handing over another piece. “Other times it feels impossibly far away.”

“Thanks,” Hermione says. “Same. And sometimes it’s both.”

Millicent hums, sits up to tuck the food back into the backpack, and then lies back down. Their hands find each other, sticky and a bit wet still, and their fingers slide together like a zip. 

Hermione falls asleep like that, safe under the sky and the bright warm sun. 

When she wakes up, not too much later judging by where the sun is, she’s alone on the picnic blanket. Millicent is sitting by the edge of the cliff, pulling at the grass around her. 

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asks, sitting down next to Millicent and she gets a smile and a kiss for her trouble. She lets her feet dangle over the edge too, slowly and carefully, and bumps against Millicent’s swinging ankles to prompt her.

“Looking at the water,” she says. The stretch of beach they can see is smaller now, the sea breaks pale and ever-changing on the dark rocks, everywhere smells salty and warm. “From our dorm you can see into the lake, and I had the window by – the east facing,” she gestures with her hands, the beds, the wall, the way the sun moves, as if that will make up for the fact that Hermione has never been to a Slytherin dorm, “so the sun would rise, and – and I would see it through the water.”

“That sounds gorgeous,” Hermione says.

“It was stale,” Millie looks at the water and the wind is making her hair stand up. “No fresh air, always this strange mix of artificially warm air and uncomfortably cold tiles.” She sighs and wraps an arm around Hermione’s waist, kisses her shoulder. “And now I’m breathing the freshest air I ever have and I miss the way the light changes the water, and how the water changes the light.” 

_Refraction,_ Hermione thinks. “Strangely violent word for something that feels so soft, isn’t it?” It makes Millicent laugh a little. 

“It is,” she agrees. “It feels like the sort of thing that should have a word that has illusion in it.”

Hermione thinks on that. “What’s to say that what is in the atmosphere is more ‘real’ than what’s in the water? It’s only our normal.”

That makes Millicent grin properly, and lie back in the grass. Hermione turns around a few times to find a way to lie down without getting poked or tickled by sometimes, and finally settles with her head in Millicent’s lap.

“Plenty isn’t what it seems,” Millicent says, and maybe they’ll finally talk about whatever’s been bothering her now. Hermione breathes evenly hoping Millie will follow through. “Like Pro –, like Snape.”

“Yeah,” Hermione agrees. “I hope he realises how much Harry worked for this before he hurts him.”

“Me too,” Millicent agrees, and she pets the hairs that have escaped Hermione’s bun. It feels nice, and Hermione settles in for it. “I have to say I hadn’t expected Weasley to be so…”

“Loud?” Hermione grins as she says it.

“Defensive,” Millie corrects, but she’s obviously smiling too. Ron had been loud. “How can you go from someone like him to someone like me?”

“Because I am a complicated person with a variety of interests and personality traits?” Hermione shoots back, and she hadn’t meant to let her tone get as sharp as it did, Millicent had only sounded soft and worried. “Sorry,” she says. Tries to think of a way to explain. “I’m – I’m happy. Happier. Looking forward to things we can and will do, personally and professionally. I’d hate to think that you were – not.”

“I am,” Millicent says, and she sounds soft still. Less worried, though. “You just seem so – so certain.”

“It’s all bluff,” Hermione says. Then she sits up and looks down at Millicent. “That and swotty obsessiveness. Do you think I’ll be any good at it? The job?”

“Yes,” Millicent promises. “You like this part – the implementation of it. The explaining and sharing.”

Hermione nods, she does. “Have you –”

“Wait,” Millicent interrupts. “Sorry. I – what you said? You’re not so bad, sweetheart.” It startles Hermione into looking down at her own hands, but she smiles when Millicent twines their fingers together again. “You do so much and you do it so well. You’ll be great at it – and I think you’ll like it too. Look at me?” Hermione grins at her, a little overwhelmed. “Now what were you going to say?”

Hermione grins, blinks away what she’s not quite ready to deal with yet. “Have you accepted Halfax’s offer?”

“No, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about it.” Millie tugs at Hermione’s hand and Hermione resists.

“Why not?”

Millicent tugs again and this time Hermione does lie back down. “Wanted to talk to you about it, hear your thoughts.”

“You love this part,” Hermione promises, “digging deeper and deeper. You’ll be so good at it. I think you’ll enjoy it endlessly.”

Millie laughs a bit, beautiful and bright in the sunlight. “Merlin knows I hate the standing up and telling people about it. Maybe I could borrow some bluff.”

“Of course,” Hermione says. “The Gryffindor way. What bothers you about Ron still?”

Millicent looks at her intently. “Some days nothing. Other days it’s… how well he knows you, I suppose.”

Hermione rolls onto her back. Thinks for a moment. “That’s rather the point of it, for me,” she tells the sky. But she knows Millie is listening. “I don’t want to have any part of me be assumed, or worse, be forced to be unchanging. I want to be looked at with curiosity and an open heart. Love is… almost secondary to that.”

Millicent hums thoughtfully.

“Is that a bad thing to say?” Hermione asks, thinking maybe she should care more about love. Maybe being genuinely liked should be less important.

“I don’t think it’s bad,” Millicent says, carefully like she’s thinking about it properly. “I think it’s brave, and proud. It suits you.”

“What about you?” Hermione asks, rolling back onto her stomach to see Millicent’s cheeks pink from the sun, her hair wild with wind and grass, and her smile genuine.

“I hope to one day run out of things to say to you. To hear you talk and already know every story. To read Muggle physics books on my lunch break so that we’ll have something to argue about.”

“Ambitious,” Hermione concludes. “And resourceful.” She looks at Millicent, loves her with all her heart, and suddenly doesn’t feel sad anymore that this is their last day in Cornwall. They can always come back.

“Time to go home?” Millicent asks. They help each other up. It is. 

> Image Description: A drawing of Hermione and Millie, lying on the grass. Hermione talks to the sky, trusting Millie with emotional things. Millie listens carefully with a soft smile. Pink shadows of a tree fall on them: it's peaceful. Millie wears a white shirt, Hermione a blue tshirt. On the higher part of the picture are several hints of the character's journey, on a white background. On the left, a laughing Harry in wizard green robes, holds up a fork of his curry; right above, Ron, pensive yet smiling, scratches his neck. On his arm is the scar he received from the brains in the Ministry. Next to him, a fragment of an old article about Severus Snape, unreadable, covers a more recent one, "Best friends spotted in London Park" displaying a little picture of Hermione and Millie's silhouettes holding hands. On the right, Henrietta Bulstrode is drinking her tea while reading, looking unconcerned. She wears elegant dark green robes and is enveloped by a wool blanket. Art by impasse-trash. End description.


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